Leverage
by chasingmavericks
Summary: Lassiter and Shawn are taken in a planned hit by criminals who want something from Lassiter. To get it? Use an injured psychic against him. An excuse for whump and Shawn and Lassiter moments, also Lassie BAMF moments. No slash. Mention of Shules. Takes place around season 4
1. Taken

**As promised, a story where Lassiter and Shawn are trapped in a bad situation. No slash, but if you squint you can maybe imagine some pre-slash if that's your thing. This will be multi-chapter and I'll update as quickly as I can.**

 **Let the story begin...**

* * *

Lassiter's entire body flinched against his bonds as he heard the sharp retort of a gun just outside of the door to the room he was being held. He hung his head in defeat as the reality of that gunshot set in.

He glanced at the empty chair across the room from him. The only evidence of it ever being occupied was the cut rope and drops of blood dotting the cement floor. The grief began to overwhelm him.

He had failed.

And Spencer paid the price.

* * *

 _18 hours earlier_

"Seriously? And you call me immature?" The complaining voice belonged to none other than Shawn Spencer, who currently sat in the back seat of the blue Crown Vic, whose front two seats were occupied by none other than Detective Juliet O'Hara and Detective Carlton Lassiter.

"Shut up, Spencer. This is serious."

"I didn't realize you took Rock, Paper, Scissors so seriously, Lassie. I always pinned you as more of a Russian Roulette kind of guy." Shawn leaned back into the middle seat, fanning himself with his hand.

"Shh, Shawn." The much kinder, and much more beautiful, Juliet said to him, briefly allowing her soft eyes to meet his before returning back to her opponent with a ruthless glare. "Alright, Carlton, you're up by one. Ready?"

"Rock..."

"Paper..."

"Scissors..."

"Shoot!"

"Damn it!" Juliet's sharp retort pierced through the car. Shawn bolted upright to witness the look of defeat on one detective and the sweet thrill of victory on the other.

"Sorry, Detective O'Hara, but I win." Lassiter said with a smug glare. He passed her an envelope and actually had a brief look of sympathy as she began opening her door. The oppressive heat immediately leaked into the car, eliciting a sigh from the back seat occupant. The door closed and Juliet began her trek across the street to the house that the warrant was due.

Shawn lazily rolled his shoulders off of the seat and perched his elbows on his knees while leaning toward the front of the car. "I can't believe you made her go out there, Lassie! Be a gentlemen!" Lassiter rolled his eyes. "It's 104 degrees outside and I won fair and square." The two detectives had been playing this game the entire day. They were tied up until this point, both of them having to deliver warrants to houses four times until now.

"Why does the Chief have you guys delivering warrants anyway? Don't you have serial killers to catch or something?"

"Apparently the heat keeps the criminals away. We haven't had a case in three days." Lassiter used the back of his hand to wipe a drop of sweat that was attempting to trickle down his face. Despite having the AC on high, both the detective and psychic consultant found themselves sweating. "Speaking of which, why are you here?"

"Wow, Lassie, I thought my company was always welcome." Shawn gave him a fake hurt look.

"You thought wrong."

"Well, Gus is out of town, my dad is on some fishing trip, and my apartment doesn't have AC."

"So, naturally, I get the misfortune of spending the hottest week in Santa Barbara history with you?"

"Look on the bright side, Lassieface, if something _does_ come up, you don't even have to call me because I'm already here."

"Let me just thank my lucky stars for that." Lassiter replied in a low, mocking tone, shaking his head in irritation as he turned back toward the front. He glanced out the passenger window to see Juliet peering into one of the windows before leaving the envelope in front of the door. Evidently no one was home and Juliet's trip had been in vain. Then again, delivering these warrants was a menial job. All of the people they were serving were wanted for questioning in relation to crimes such as tax evasion or reckless driving.

"Now can we at least stop for smoothies?"

"Spencer, for the last time, if you want smoothies, you can walk. Now stop talking, it already feels like there's no oxygen in here _without_ you blabbering."

"There's no need to make up words, Lassie."

Lassiter shot him an incredulous look. _What did I do to deserve this?_ He put his car into gear and pulled away from the curb to make a U-turn to make Juliet's walk back a few feet shorter. He stopped his car in the middle of the street, not concerned about traffic due to the residential nature of the neighborhood. They both watched as Juliet made her way down the front steps.

"I'm sure Jules will want a smoothie after being outside. I think that's two to one and you know what that..." Shawn's voice suddenly cut off as his eyes noticed something in the side mirror.

"I know that what?" Lassiter asked in irritation.

"Shh, Lassie!" Shawn waved him off as he craned his neck to get a view behind him. A utility van sat no more than sixty feet behind them. This fact alone was not concerning due to the fact that Santa Barbara was experiencing rolling blackouts. However, this was the same van that was at the last three houses they had visited. Suddenly, the van inched out of its spot next to the curb and Shawn caught a glint of something in the driver's hand. He turned to his right to see Juliet nearly at the sidewalk, completely exposed. He flung open his door before Lassiter could ask what the hell he was doing.

"Jules, get down!" He yelled, gesturing toward the van. She caught sight of the van and saw the gun sticking out of the driver's window and took cover behind the nearest car while simultaneously calling for backup. She drew her own weapon to defend herself but immediately realized a startling fact. _The gun wasn't aimed at her._

Shawn was relieved when Juliet took cover. "Lassie, go!"

"Spencer, what the hell are you-" His words were cut off as the back window of the Crown Vic exploded with the concussive force of a bullet. Shawn dove into the back seat and slammed his door shut, his hazel eyes meeting the cold blues of the detective. "Go, go, go!" Shawn yelled, and was immediately thrown against the back seat as Lassiter sped off. "What is this?" The detective asked to no one in particular.

"They've been following us!" Shawn replied, grabbing the side of the door to steady himself. "They didn't even go for Juliet. Lassie, who have you pissed off recently?"

"You're blaming _me?"_ Lassiter yelled back as he maneuvered his car to an outlet street. The utility van followed closely behind but Lassiter was thankful to see that the driver was more focused on driving than shooting. He grabbed the radio and yelled commands into the speaker about their situation and location. Backup was already in route thanks to Detective O'Hara. He made sure a black and white would get to her location to pick her up. "How do you know this is about me?" Lassiter asked as he weaved through a narrow opening. He didn't want to risk any civilians on busy streets so he drove toward the quieter, more "rural" area of town. "You piss me off on a daily basis so I'd assume plenty of others feel the same way!" The detective yelled at the psychic consultant who continued to get tossed about with each turn of the car.

They found themselves on a straight-away and Lassiter ducked as his left mirror exploded next to him. "Great, Mr. Trigger-Happy is back." Shawn said from a hunched position. Their situation was less than ideal. They were on a straight road being followed by a gun-wielding maniac with backup who knows where. "Come on Lassie, go faster!"

"This _is_ faster!"

"Wait up here...take a right!" Shawn yelled. Much to Lassiter's disapproval, Shawn reached forward and grabbed the radio, both of them ducking again as a bullet made contact with the car. "This is Shawn Spencer, currently in the car with a disgruntled detective and being chased by a guy with a gun in a utility van." If Lassiter was in any other situation, he'd punch the psychic himself. "Listen, we are on Mission Canyon road about to take a right on Tunnel road, get the backup to Foothill at the intersection and we will bring him right to you." Shawn dropped the radio and held onto the passenger seat as Carlton drifted around the sharp turn. The person on the radio said that backup was three minutes out. "What's the plan here, Spencer?"

"Take a left into the neighborhood and bring him back to the main road, we just have to keep him occupied for a few minutes." Shawn said, his eyes focusing on every detail of the passing scenery. As they approached the turn, an SUV pulled out directly in front of them, causing Lassiter to jerk the steering wheel to the right to avoid a head-on collision then back to the left to avoid going off the road. Unfortunately for the blue Crown Vic, the SUV did not stop and continued forward, clipping the back end of the car just enough to lift the back left wheel off the ground. Combined with the momentum from the attempted left turn, the swerving car no longer had a chance. "Spencer, hold on!" Lassiter yelled as he realized what was happening. A momentary feeling of weightlessness filled the car as the two left wheels lifted off the ground before the right side of the car skidded across the pavement. The Crown Vic skidded for several yards on its side before finally succumbing to the momentum and gravity. It tipped completely on its roof with a groan, creaking as it shifted back and forth until settling into the dirt.

Once the world stopped spinning, Lassiter shifted to try to escape the crushing pressure of his seatbelt. The buckle stubbornly wouldn't budge and he was left hanging upside down, which did nothing for the headache pulsating through his skull. His heart was pounding in his ears as he heard the unmistakable sound of a door close followed by the cocking of a gun. He heard voices.

"You're not supposed to kill them, you idiot!" One of the voices hissed.

 _Them?_

Lassiter painfully turned his neck toward the back of the car. Shawn's left hand was near his head and Lassiter remembered that the psychic had attempted to hold onto the passenger seat as hell broke loose. He awkwardly reached his hand to grip the wrist of the psychic. The was a pulse. A racing pulse, but Lassiter assumed his felt very similar.

"Spencer?" He asked while attempting to get a view of his face. Shawn was on the floor...well, the roof of the car that was currently serving as the floor. Shawn was on his stomach, his head turned away from Lassiter and toward the broken side window. His left arm was outstretched toward Lassiter and his legs were folded awkwardly against the back of the car. "Spencer!" Lassiter hissed louder, wondering when their pursuers were going to approach. Shawn shifted and let out a slight groan. Lassiter increased his grip on his arm, which was already slick with sweat. "Wake up, this isn't over." Suddenly, a faint sound of sirens filled the air.

"Damn it! Let's go!" A different voice yelled from outside the car. Briefly, Lassiter hoped that meant they would leave but these hopes were squashed as his door was wrenched open and a gun shoved in his direction.

"Alright, detective, don't move. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"A little cliche, don't you think?" Lassiter forced through clenched teeth. All of the blood felt like it was pooling in his pounding head and all he wanted to do was go to sleep, preferably in a cooler environment. A hand reached in and sliced his seatbelt with a knife, causing him to fall ungracefully next to the psychic. Before he could move, hands were on him and pulling him roughly from the car. The heat from the over-bearing sun making beads of sweat form on his forehead immediately. The sirens were getting louder but still too far to help him at this very moment. Getting upright caused his head to spin and his disoriented limbs refused to cooperate. The hands had removed his gun and tied his hands behind his back before he had a chance to defend himself. He was pulled away from the car and led to a different car. The other man went over to Shawn's side. He briefly saw the SUV and utility van blocking the road.

 _A planned hit?_

"Hey he's still alive!" The other man said.

"Well hurry up and get him over here." The man holding Lassiter yelled back. The sirens continued to grow in volume. He led Lassiter to the back seat of the car where another man was waiting in the driver's seat, gun pointing at Lassiter. "I'd recommend not trying anything." The man said as he slammed the door and went back to the totaled Crown Vic. Lassiter momentarily ignored the gun pointed in his direction and turned his head to look out the side window to see the two men haul Shawn's limp body from the car. They half dragged, half carried him to the other back seat door and none too gently dropped him in next to Lassiter. Shawn slumped into Lassiter and the detective could see that he was bleeding from a gash on his head. The man that pulled Lassiter from the car sat in the passenger seat while the other ran back to the utility van. Both cars moved in tandem away from the mayhem, the utility van pulling off into a side street and circling back toward the wreck. A few moments later, several Santa Barbara police cars arrived to the scene of carnage. Two stayed with the scene while the other four went after the wanted utility van which swerved into another street, away from where the detective and psychic consultant were being taken. Lassiter sighed as he realized the gravity of the situation. They were being taken and now the police had no leads on where. He focused himself on the situation in front of him.

 _Two assailants._

 _Both armed._

 _Driver: thirties, ponytail, well-built, tattoos, scars...hired muscle?_

 _Passenger: Average height, average build, well-groomed, short blond hair, early thirties...?_

Lassiter was at square one still. Obviously these guys, or at least the passenger, wanted something with them. It would only be a matter of time before he found out. He turned his attention to the psychic next to him who began stirring with a pained gasp.

"Hey Spencer, you can wake up now." Lassiter said as he nudged Shawn with his shoulder. Shawn's hand immediately went to his bleeding head but Lassiter spoke before he could touch it. "Easy, now you don't want to touch that."

"L'ssie? Wha' h'ppen? Shawn slurred, his eyes still squeezed shut.

"Long story, open your eyes." Shawn did as he was told, squinting against the offending sunlight. His eyes peered through slits as he took in the image of the detective sitting next to him. Lassiter was patient as the injured man slowly got his bearings. "Why aren't you dr'ving?" Shawn asked, his alertness increasing with each minute.

"Spencer, we were taken. Do you remember?"

A confused look crossed the psychic face which was immediately followed by a look of panic. "Jules! Is she...she was..."

"She's fine. She called for backup. Relax." The stress and shock was taking a toll on the psychic's wellbeing. Lassiter could see the beads of sweat dripping from his face and neck, mixing with blood and staining his light plaid shirt. He was breathing rapidly and the pain was evident in his voice. "I know your head hurts, you've got a nasty cut up there. Besides that, how do you feel?" Lassiter asked as Shawn leaned back and closed his eyes.

"Didn't think you cared..."

"I don't. I just don't want to have to carry you."

"My legs are fine. Shoulder's on fire though." Shawn said lazily. Lassiter glanced toward the psychic's shoulders, noticing that the right one looked slightly uneven in comparison to the left.

"It looks dislocated." Lassiter turned back toward the front of the car, remembering they weren't alone in this situation. "Hey, I don't know what your plan is here, but kidnapping a detective and a police consultant probably isn't your brightest plan. He needs a hospital."

"You'll get nothing and like it."

Lassiter sat back. Another cliche from his captor silencing him. He struggled against his bonds, realizing an escape attempt was futile.

Shawn was thankful to not be restrained, but the pulsating pain in his shoulder and the dizzying ache radiating from his head kept him moving as little as possible. Even if he could move, the gun pointed in his direction urged him otherwise. He knew this situation was bad. If the guys taking them wanted them dead, they'd already be dead. But since they were taken in such an elaborate manner, it meant these criminals wanted something from them. Shawn didn't particularly want to find out the lengths they would go to get it.

The car went over a bump and Shawn couldn't hold back a whimper of pain. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain in his body was getting turned up in intensity every second. Lassiter shot him a sympathetic glance and Shawn was surprised to see the helplessness lurking beneath the cool blue orbs.

Lassiter felt his heart clench as Shawn's distress continued. Lassiter was incredibly sore from the car crash, but mostly from his seatbelt and the likely whiplash he experienced. He couldn't imagine the beating that Shawn's unrestrained body took as the car was struck and turned over. No, he did not particularly care for the psychic, but Spencer was a human being who had proven himself useful to the police department and seeing him in this condition only fueled his anger toward his captors.

"Mind telling us where we are headed?" Lassiter hissed from the back seat.

"Shut up or the _psychic_ here buys a bullet."

Lassiter was taken aback. Threatening Shawn to get Lassiter to comply? Suddenly it all made sense.

 _Shawn was leverage._

* * *

 **Let me know what you think.**


	2. Captives

**Slight typo: In the first chapter it is 18 hours earlier, not 8. The error has been corrected to avoid confusion!**

* * *

Minutes after Juliet lost sight of her partner's car being pursued, she heard the unmistakable sound of sirens coming her direction. Being outside in the unbearable heat had drained her energy, but as soon as the black and white slowed next to her, she was in the passenger seat before the car even stopped moving, shouting commands to the driver.

It did not take long for them to end up at the scene that Juliet wished she could erase from her memories. The Crown Vic sat upside down just off the road, several bullet holes evident. The most concerning part was that the interior was empty and markings in the dirt painted a picture of a struggle. Juliet kneeled next to the open back door, barely holding back a gasp as she caught sight of the small pool of blood staining the interior roof of the car.

Juliet had a sinking feeling that whatever happened here was only the beginning.

* * *

Lassiter didn't remember closing his eyes. Nor did he remember falling asleep. However, he was harshly awoken as the car stopped suddenly. He blinked his eyes a few times to clear his vision and attempted to move from his uncomfortable position but quickly found that his bindings were still in place. Every muscle in his back and arms was screaming at him to be put in any other position but Lassiter didn't feel confident that his captors would offer any form of sympathy toward him. He had no idea how long they had been driving, but one look to his left showed him that it was long enough for Spencer to fall asleep too. _Or pass out._

"Alright sleeping beauties, time to move." The blond stated with a wave of his gun. He exited the car and opened the back door on Lassiter's side, reaching in to grab the detective and haul him from his seated position. Pins and needles traveled up and down his legs and he had to hold back a hiss as his back and neck protested the movement. He looked around to see if he could obtain any clues on their whereabouts.

 _Forested, isolated, dirt road, single building. Still hot and sunny outside. Has to be within 2 hours of Santa Barbara._

He lost sight of Shawn as he was led into the abandoned structure. It was a small, nondescript building that looked like it was simply dropped in the middle of the forest. Old furniture lay tattered and torn in pieces on the floor. There was only one window, a fire place, and a door leading to a basement of sorts. The blond forcefully led him through that door and down the steps to a cement floor where two chairs sat. He was led to the farther one and seated none too gently. His captor secured his hands behind the chair and after a few test tugs, Lassiter realized the blond knew what he was doing when tying the knots.

Moments later, Spencer was led down the stairs by Tattoos, who shoved him forcefully toward the bottom, causing him to miss the last step and fall to the floor, eliciting a groan from the injured psychic. The groan turned into a surprised yelp as Tattoos pulled him up by his dislocated shoulder and threw him into the seat, allowing the blond to secure him tightly.

"Sweet Jesus." Shawn gasped. "Every heard of hospitality?" He bit back another groan as his injured shoulder screamed in protest at the grotesque angle it was forced into behind his back.

His head was pounding and he was incredibly dizzy. The pain in his shoulder caused a nauseating feeling to blossom in his stomach. He wanted to pass out, to give into the sweet bliss of darkness and unknowingingness. But Shawn's brain did not like not knowing things. His childhood training forced his mind into overdrive to take in every detail and work to find a way out of this situation. Unfortunately for him, there were no details to be seen. They were locked in a cement basement with two unknown men. Like Lassiter, Shawn believed one was only hired muscle while the blond was the true mastermind behind this plan.

 _Or the psychic buys a bullet._

Shawn gulped and raised his eyes to those of the detective sitting across from him. For once, this wasn't about Shawn. This guy wanted something from Lassiter and Shawn was simply a bargaining chip against Lassiter's conscience. He prayed that the SBPD caught the utility van driver and could get him to give up their location. _If he even knows it._

The blond finished typing something on his phone and turned to face the two bound men. He walked slowly toward Lassiter, studying him like an art exhibit, causing the detective to pull uncomfortably at his bonds.

"Detective Lassiter, I'm sure you're wondering why you're here." Now that the man was standing in front of him, Lassiter could finally get a good look at him. He looked normal, not like the average kidnapper one would think of.

"What I'm actually wondering is how long of a sentence the judge will give you after this is over." Lassiter said in a low tone, one he typically reserved for heated interrogations.

The blond chuckled. "I'm glad you have high hopes, but unfortunately this is not going to work out in your favor."

"What makes you say that?"

"I like you, Detective. I'll cut to the chase." He smiled as he strolled around to Lassiter's back. He placed a hand on his shoulder and gestured forward. "See these four cement walls? Well, they are holding up a structure that is entirely off the grid. Your cell phones were left at the scene. Any form of civilization is well over five miles away in any direction. And the best part? I'm a ghost."

"Oh well excuse me, I didn't realize I was communicating with the dead." Lassiter shot back. He saw a small smile creep across Shawn's lips, which gave him slight reassurance that the psychic was still with it. He was silent, but his eyes were alert and following the blond's every move.

"Like I said, I like you." The Ghost said back, beginning a slow walk toward the other bound man. "Here's the deal. I don't exist in any database. You won't find a social security number or address or bank statement linked to me. I can disappear to anywhere I choose. That's why my way of living is a success."

"You're an uncatchable criminal?"

"Not quite. I don't commit crimes. I supply information."

"Last time I checked, kidnapping is still a crime." Shawn said wearily as the Ghost approached him.

"Ah, well times have changed. This is my last hoorah before I disappear for good. I have people who will pay a lot of money for the information that Detective Lassiter holds." He paused behind Shawn, eyeing Lassiter.

"You won't get any information from me." Lassiter spat back.

"Oh I wouldn't be so sure."

Before Lassiter could speak, the Ghost grabbed Shawn's bound hands and pulled upward, wrenching his shoulders into an unnatural position. Shawn couldn't hold himself back from yelling against the pain. The movement reignited a deep fire in his shoulder that became unbearable as the Ghost held his grip tight.

"S-stop! Please!" Shawn yelled. Lassiter could see the unwanted tears escaping from the corners of tightly closed lids.

"Stop! What do you want?!" Lassiter yelled.

The Ghost released Shawn's hands and they fell back to their position behind him. Shawn whimpered as his abused shoulder pulsated with pain from the unwelcome movement. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears and his breath shakily moving between his lips. He knew he had to slow his breathing or he'd hyperventilate and pass out. To add insult to injury, the Ghost patted his shoulder in an "encouraging" manner, eliciting another whimper from the psychic.

"It's quite simple. As head detective, you're privy to a lot of information. What my buyers want is access to this information." He knelt down in front of Lassiter. "I need you to tell me the names of every cop currently working undercover. Not just from Santa Barbara, but from all the neighboring cities as well. And before you think about playing dumb, I already know the amount of officers currently undercover. I now just need the names."

Lassiter was at a loss. _Undercover cops?_ It was true, Lassiter did know every name on the undercover list. The SPBD and neighboring departments had been working together on several gang busts. From guns, to drugs, to sex trafficking, there were officers in deep cover infiltrating these heinous operations at this very moment.

 _He's going to sell the information to the gangs._ Suddenly he remembered the officer that was ambushed a few weeks ago. He had been working undercover and was on his way home when a group of men jumped him and nearly beat him to death. They would've succeeded if a passerby hadn't called the police and intervened. The officer was from a neighboring department but the SBPD still took it hard. Last Lassiter heard, the officer was still in a coma.

 _If he gets this information, these officers will be killed._

Lassiter allowed his eyes to meet those of the psychic's, whose eyes reflected a feeling of "this isn't good."

"Since I'm generous, I'll give you some time to think about it. I don't think I need to remind you what happens if you refuse." With that, Tattoos struck Shawn with an unsuspecting right hook, causing his head to snap to the side. The sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh made Lassiter cringe. As Shawn recovered from the blow, both Tattoos and the Ghost walked up the stairs.

"You okay?" Lassiter asked the bound man across from him. He could see a trickle of blood dripping from his nose.

"Peachy." Came the quiet reply.

"Listen, we know how criminals work. He's going to keep us here until he gets his information. After that, he has no use for us." Lassiter said.

"Well that's optimistic."

"Spen-Shawn, this situation is really bad. I don't...I don't know what's going to happen to you if I don't tell him what he wants."

"Lassie, there's no 'if' in this situation. You can't tell him that information."

"Spencer..."

"No. It's my life versus dozens of police officers, there's no choice here. And like you said, he will keep us here until he gets what he wants. The longer we are here, the greater chance the good guys will find us." Shawn said, flashing Lassiter a grin that lacked its usually luster but demonstrated that Shawn was still more or less himself.

"I trust that our department is doing everything they can to find us, but based on what he told us, we have to play this out as if we are alone in this fight." Lassiter said grimly. He tested his bonds again, noting that slipping them would be impossible if he wanted to keep any skin on his wrists and hands. He felt along the back of the chair, his fingers brushing over a raised bump. With further inspection, his fingertips told him that this bump had a sharp point where the wood was chipped. It was a long shot, but worth the effort. Slowly and methodically he rubbed the rope against the splintered wood. A seed of doubt planted in his mind that told him it was more likely to wear down the sharp edge than actually cut through the rope. However, this was most likely their only chance.

"What's that door look like?" The detective asked. He was too far away to make out any details.

Shawn craned his neck painfully to see behind him. "Uh, it's metal. Looks like a single deadbolt into the cement." _No chance of breaking that down._

"Damn it." Lassiter hissed under his breath.

Like Lassiter, Shawn stretched his fingers along the base of the chair. He couldn't feel any sharp edges, and even if he could, there was no chance his shoulder would allow him to tear through the rope holding him. What he did feel, however, was the slightly smooth end of a screw or a nail. If he could get the screw loose, they could maybe- _maybe-_ pick the lock and get out. He began the long and painful process of digger his fingernails beneath the top of the screw, wiggling it against the wood. "I've found a screw in the chair. Looks like I'll get it out, give or take, before my 40th birthday."

"Keep at it, I've found a possible way out of these bonds." _Then we might get a chance to celebrate your 40th birthday one day._

After several minutes of working, both the psychic and the detective were getting nowhere fast. The tension in the room was palpable. The silence only broken by a sharp intake of breath from the former.

"Hey Lassie?" Shawn's voice sounded strange.

"Yeah?"

"If we uh, you know, get separated somehow and you see a way...if you have an opportunity to escape, you need to go. You need to leave me and get the hell away from here."

"Spencer, why would you even say that?"

"This guy uses words like privy and has a very specific plan here. Depending on how long we are here, I don't know if I'll be in the best 'escaping' condition." Lassiter was dumbstruck. Spencer had rarely demonstrated any morsel of maturity in all the years he had known the exuberant psychic, but here he was, accepting the gravity of the situation and recognizing that he might not make it out of this cement prison. Shawn still put a creative spin on his declaration, but what he was basically saying is " _Hey Lassie I might get beaten to death in this very chair so don't feel the need to carry my lifeless body out of here if you get the chance to leave."_ Lassiter shuddered. He worked harder at rubbing the rope against the sharpened edge. He could already feel his wrists turning raw but he didn't care.

Whether Shawn liked it or not, they were both getting out of here.

Both of them froze as the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt unlocking echoed throughout the barren walls.

"Made your decision, detective?"

"Go to hell."

"Oh, I don't think that's the right answer, wouldn't you agree Shawn?" The Ghost walked casually toward the two bound men.

"I don't know, I've never been good at tests. I'll have to go with C." Shawn stated defiantly.

"Cute." He gave a faint nod and a split second later Shawn heard footsteps approaching from behind him. Tattoos grabbed a handful of Shawn's hair and pulled his head back. Shawn gasped as he felt his cut reopen and the warm trickle of blood pave new streams of red down his face. The large man released his grasp and Shawn let his head fall, resting his chin on his chest.

"Detective Lassiter, I've been very patient but that patience is wearing thin. Are you going to give me the names?"

"I would love to, but I think I hit my head in that car accident a while ago. I'm having some trouble remembering right now."

"I'm done playing games, detective. Let's see if we can jog your memory." With a wave of his hand, Tattoos was on Shawn like a rabid dog. He hit Shawn with a forceful right hook, only to be met with one from the left. Shawn cried out.

"Stop!" Lassiter yelled in vain as he watched the assault on the psychic continue.

Tattoos began aiming his punches at Shawn's midsection, hitting with a force that knocked all the air from the bound man's lungs.

Shawn had no options in this situation. His hands were useless in defending himself and his body stubbornly refused to pass out. With each hit to his stomach and chest Shawn could feel a pained grunt leave his body along with any semblance of oxygen. The edges of his vision began to blur and he was about to give into the demanding darkness when the punches finally stopped. He was left gasping and wheezing for air as his paralyzed muscles attempted to regulate his breathing once again.

Lassiter wanted to murder the man standing in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to empty a chamber of his 45 caliber into his chest. Each punch and every pained sound coming from Shawn only cranked his anger up to impossible levels. Never in his life had Lassiter felt so helpless. Shawn was slouched forward, breathing in hitched breaths as blood dripped onto his pants and the floor from his nose and mouth.

"So, Detective Lassiter?" The Ghost asked mockingly.

"Don't..." a choked sob caused the Ghost to turn toward the injured psychic. "Don't you dare tell him any...anything, Lassie." Shawn squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of pain but when he opened them Lassiter could see a stubborn look of determination radiating behind the hazel orbs.

"How sweet. I never pegged you for a self-sacrifice type, Shawn. Actually, this gives me an idea." The Ghost said with a sickening grin.

"You're friend 'Lassie' here won't give me the information I need. I can tell that us hurting you angers him, but not enough to tell me what I want to know. You've probably already figured out that you don't get to walk away from this once I have this information but here's the thing, you get to choose whether you die painlessly or not. As you know, there are a lot of ways to cause pain and we haven't even broken the surface yet. So, Lassiter..." he said while turning back toward the bound detective. "Tonight, you get a choice. You can let Shawn die now without anymore pain or you can allow him to suffer until morning."

"What? What are you...? No! This isn't the deal." Lassiter shouted incredulously while pulling against the ropes. Shawn's eyes were wide with fear. "Killing him won't make me tell you what you want to know, how is that a good plan?"

"Well, detective..." his voice was menacingly low. "I'll leave his body for you to look at for as long as it takes. You'll break. I can see it in your eyes what this man means to you."

Lassiter's heart dropped into his stomach. This man was twisted. "I won't let you kill him. No." He said shaking his head.

"Have it your way." The Ghost began walking away from Lassiter but paused just behind Shawn. Lassiter saw him shift his hand into his pocket and the reflection of metal made his heart clench.

"Shawn no!"

Shawn's scream tore through Lassiter's heart like a hollow-point bullet. The Ghost forcefully slammed a four-inch blade into Shawn's thigh and pulled it out with a sickening twist. Once his screams died out, Shawn's entire body was shaking and he couldn't stop the agonized sobs from wracking his body.

"Your choice, detective. You can escape your bonds and stop the bleeding or watch the psychic perish in front of you. Just know, if you do save him, he's only in for more pain in the morning." With that, the Ghost slammed the door and locked it, leaving Lassiter with a critically injured psychic and balancing a double-edged sword within the walls of his mind.

He couldn't just let Shawn die. That was completely out of question. But would he be saving him just to make him suffer more? Lassiter's head pounded with frustration and his heart ached with hopelessness and guilt. He pulled harder at his ropes.

"Shawn?"

Shawn was breathing rapidly and shallowly while his head hung to his chest. The red on his jeans was growing in size and blood began to pool in the seat of the chair, dripping onto the floor in tune with the tick of a clock.

"Shawn!? Shit!" Lassiter pulled harder. He was sure his wrists were bleeding by now but he didn't care. Shawn was dying in front of him.

Moments that felt like hours ticked by. The pool of blood beneath the psychic had grown to more of a pond. Shawn had yet to move and Lassiter feared he had already wasted too much time. But at last, he felt the bonds loosen. After several more swipes against the splintered wood, he was able to break through and unravel the rope from his raw wrists. He didn't even allow his body to react to the feeling of blood rushing back into the abused extremities because he was on his knees in front of Shawn before his brain could process it.

"Hey? Shawn!" _Should I move him or treat him? Get the leg above his heart not below. Get him to the floor._

Lassiter moved behind Shawn and began untying the ropes. It was much easier aided by two free hands and his vision and he had Shawn free within minutes. Mindful of his shoulder, he moved Shawn to the cement floor. Shawn began stirring as his body was moved. Lassiter grabbed Shawn's plaid shirt and tore a piece of it off, folding the fabric before pressing it against the wound on his thigh. Shawn's body stiffened and his eyes shot open. He gasped in pain and weakly used his left hand to push against Lassiter's.

"Stop, I'm trying to help."

"Lassie? Why'm I on the fl'r?"

"Shush, I need to stop the bleeding."

Shawn cracked his eyes open again to look down at what Lassiter was doing. "Hey...thas my favorite shirt." He said wearily.

"You own fifty more. Relax."

Shawn was pale, sweating, and shaking beneath Lassiter's hands. He feared the psychic was going into shock.

"Shawn, you listening? I need you to hold this here." Lassiter placed Shawn's left hand over the impromptu bandage. "Hold it tight, okay?"

"Mmhmm."

Lassiter quickly untied his tie, wrapping it around Shawn's leg once before tying it off to hold the piece of shirt in place. The bleeding had slowed, reassuring Lassiter that an artery wasn't hit, but the wound could still easily be deadly. Shawn seemed to be more awake than before which made Lassiter feel slightly better. The plaid was nearly soaked through with blood but Lassiter hoped the pressure from the knotted tie would be enough.

"You with me?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help us get out of here."

"You can." Shawn said weakly. Before Lassiter could ask what he meant, Shawn painfully reached his left hand into his back pocket. Lassiter just now noticing that his fingertips were swollen and bloodstained. He stretched his hand toward Lassiter's and deposited the item into the palm of the shocked detective.

"How did you..."

His words were lost as he stared at the nail in his hand. This could be their ticket out of here if they played their cards correctly.

"Jesus, Spencer." Lassiter said in disbelief as he stared down at the prone man. "We have a long night. Think you can sit up and lean against the wall?" Shawn nodded slightly and Lassiter helped him the few feet to the wall, allowing Shawn to lean on him as he caught his breath against the waves of pain radiating from his body. "We are going to figure out a way out of here."

"Lassie...don't forget what I said." The weak voice that belonged to anyone but Shawn said to him.

 _You need to leave me._

 **Ah shoot! What's Lassie going to do?**


	3. Reset

**Oh hey btw I don't own Psych.**

Lassiter rubbed his thumb over the head of the nail repeatedly, the gears in his mind turning with each stroke. He glanced down to the injured psychic. His eyes were closed and his head leaned gently against the detective's shoulder. His breaths were shallow and his unconscious state was restless. Every so often the detective could hear Shawn's breath strain and his muscles stiffen, as if reliving the assault he experienced just hours before.

His eyes had long since adjusted to the dim light of the cement basement and he could clearly see the large red stain coating Shawn's jeans. He could also easily see the bruises blossoming on the psychic's cheeks and jaw and could only imagine what the rest of his body looked like. The wound on his head had long since stopped bleeding but still left an ugly trail of red as a reminder. He felt incredibly guilty. He knew he had no choice in the matter but he was supposed to protect civilians, not contribute to their torture. And as much as he hated to admit it, Shawn was more than just a civilian. He was one of the team.

Lassiter broke out of his thoughts as Shawn flinched and inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering open as he lifted his head from the detective's shoulder. Lassiter gave him a few seconds to get his bearings.

"Shawn?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, how do you feel?"

"'Bout as good as I suppose I look."

"I'm going to take a look at your leg." Lassiter said as he shifted away from the wall and positioned himself next to Shawn's bandaged leg. "The bleeding has stopped. I still wouldn't move it around too much though."

"Looks like I can't get in that jog I was hoping for this morning." Shawn said with a huff. "Speaking of, what time even is it?"

"It's sometime before sunrise."

"I've been asleep that long?"

"Yeah, your body needs the rest."

"What about you?"

"Huh?"

"Did you sleep?"

"No."

Shawn sighed. "Lassie, we can't get out of here if you don't watch out for yourself too."

"Shawn..."

"No, I know I wasn't the only one hurt in that accident. You need to take care of yourself, you've already been up for nearly 24 hours."

"I need you to focus on you." Lassiter replied sternly. "If we get out of here, you're going to need all your strength and then some."

Shawn fell silent. He attempted to shift his position against the wall but stopped abruptly with a pained grunt. "Lassie?" He forced out through clenched teeth. "Think we can do anything about this shoulder?"

 _Shit._

With all that had transpired, Lassiter had almost forgotten about Shawn's dislocated shoulder. In a survival training course he had taken years ago, Lassiter had learned how to reset a dislocated shoulder. Luckily he had never had to perform the maneuver on an actual person, but he felt like that was about to change.

Lassiter took a deep breath to steady himself. "I'm going to need you to move away from the wall, Spencer."

Slowly, Shawn managed to inch away from the wall, keeping his injured leg extended straight in front of him. He used his left hand to keep himself upright and closed his eyes as the new movement reignited the kindling of pain simmering throughout his body. He was sweating by the time he finished, although that could have been due to the muggy nature of the basement. Despite night falling, the basement remained at an uncomfortably high temperature.

"Alright, I'm just going to feel your shoulder to make sure it's only dislocated, alright?"

Shawn nodded and prepared himself for what he assumed would not be a pleasant experience. Lassiter methodically felt along Shawn's uneven shoulder, noting the distinct bump followed by a drop near the top of his collarbone. It was slightly swollen and Lassiter felt pangs of sympathy each time his finger found a particularly tender spot on the psychic's shoulder. Satisfied that his initial hypothesis was accurate, Lassiter removed his hands.

"Okay, it's dislocated. Are you ready for me to fix it?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"I need you to lie flat." Lassiter said as he eased Shawn toward the floor, his hands supporting his back and chest. "I'm going to position your arm flat against the ground at about a 45 degree angle from your body. I'm going to pull with just enough force to give your bone enough space to slide back into the socket naturally."

"Awesome." Shawn said flatly.

Lassiter slowly positioned Shawn's arm as he said he would, eliciting a few sharp breaths from the psychic. Once his arm was flat against the ground and at the proper angle, the detective placed one hand on Shawn's elbow and one near his wrist. Shawn gave him a slight nod to indicate that he was ready for what was about to come.

"Okay, Spencer. One...two..."

 _*POP!*_

Ahhh! Fu—God! You didn't—unghhh!—even count to three!" Shawn yelled as the detective gently bent his arm at the elbow and laid it across his chest. He was panting as his complaints continued.

"Deep breaths, Spencer."

"Deep breaths? You didn't just have your shoulder bones manhandled by a lanky detective! Agh!" He squeezed his eyes shut as he rode out an aftershock of pain.

"It's not technically your shoulder bo...never mind." The detective shook his head. He did feel bad for Shawn. His shoulder had been dislocated for many hours and had quite a bit of swelling. He knew resetting it had to be incredibly painful.

After a few moments, Shawn's tense muscles relaxed and his breathing settled into a more normal rhythm. Lassiter unbuttoned one of the middle buttons of Shawn's shirt and eased his hand into the gap. "I need your belt."

"Whoa there Lassie, you haven't even bought me dinner."

"Shut up, Spencer."

"But this belt looks good with this outfit." Shawn whined.

Lassiter clenched his teeth and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "In case you've forgotten, your jeans are ripped and covered in blood and your shirt isn't any better. And secondly, I'm wearing slacks, you have jeans. Oh, and it's _your_ arm that needs it."

"Fine." Shawn sighed as he used his good arm to unbuckle his belt and slide it out from underneath him. Lassiter took the belt from him and gingerly helped Shawn back into a sitting position. He positioned the belt like a sling then pulled it away as he reached in his pocket.

"What are you doing?"

"Punching another hole in the belt so it's tight enough." The detective said as he used the nail to do just that. Once again he wrapped the belt around Shawn so his arm was held tightly to his chest. He threaded the belt through the buckle and slipped the metal point into the newly punched hole before tucking the extra strap away.

"There. How's it feel?"

"Well, a lot better than before, but it's still throbbing."

"It could've been worse so you're lucky."

"Yeah, I'm feeling pretty lucky right about now." Shawn said sarcastically. In truth, his entire body ached. He just wanted to go home.

"Well, good. Because luck is what we need right now." The detective said as he held out the nail. "While you were asleep, I considered our options."

"Do any of those options involve us getting out of here alive?"

"If they go well, yes." The detective said as he fidgeted with the nail in his hand. "Right now, I see two possible options. One, we can pick the lock and make our way out of here now. The problem with that option is we do not know what is behind that door. It is very possible that our 'friends' are still in the house. However, it is possible they are not. Picking the lock with a nail probably isn't on their radar so they could have left and will return sometime within the next few hours."

"And option two?"

"We wait for them to get back." Shawn stiffened. "We act like we couldn't get out of our bonds and when they get close enough, we take them out."

"With our bare hands? Have you ever seen me in a fight?" Shawn asked incredulously.

"I'll take care of them. I just need you to get as far away from them as possible."

"So basically with option one we have a possibility of a free escape without confrontation and with option two we force the confrontation. Option two is more planned while option one has no set plan once we are out of that door. If we take them out, we might have access to a phone. If we leave without a phone, we could get stranded."

"Pretty much."

"My dad always told me not to gamble. He said I should never rely on a game of chance." Shawn said with a shrug of his uninjured shoulder. "So much for picking that lock." Shawn looked down at his swollen fingertips.

"Hey, it could still be of use. It is our only weapon."

"No offense, Lassie, but his is bigger than yours." Lassiter gave him a strange look. "His knife, you weirdo. And his gun..."

Lassiter once again rolled his eyes. In truth, both of the options terrified him. He wasn't terrified about the danger he was going to face; he was scared about the repercussions that would occur if they failed. He wasn't sure how long it would take for his captor to realize he would never get the information he was seeking. And Lassiter didn't particularly want to find out what would happen when he did.

* * *

Juliet wanted to scream in frustration. The rays of early morning light streaked across the station floors and reflected into her field of vision and made her aching head pound harder. She had been up for over 24 hours now, 12 of those hours being spent attempting to find any trace of her missing partner and Shawn. Despite tracking down the van and its occupant that fired upon and chased the detective and consultant, the SBPD had proceeded to get nothing from the stubborn man despite questioning him for the greater part of the night and early morning.

Their only lead was his cell phone. After being combed over by SBPD's best analysts, however, they came up with nothing. The detective in Juliet told her that the man in custody was only a hire and most likely knew very little about the whereabouts of the detective and the police consultant. She felt utterly helpless. She was supposed to have his back but now all she could was pray he was in a position to help himself and Shawn.

* * *

The door to the basement creaked open with a thunk. Two men slowly made their way down the last step and into the stagnant air. The smell of blood and sweat overwhelmed their senses. It was very evident that the following night did not play out in their captives' favor. The blond man in the front smiled in a sinister manner as he made his way to the bloodied man slumped in the chair as he had left him the night prior. He glanced toward the detective, who sported a similar position and was yet to regain consciousness. The blond imagined the detective fighting to get out of his bonds, only to fail and watch the psychic bleed out and take his last breath. The failure must have overwhelmed him given his current state.

"Too bad." said the Ghost to no one in particular. "I kind of liked him." Tattoos just laughed. "Get him out of here." The larger man moved toward Shawn to untie him but just as he reached the unmoving psychic, a quick movement caught his eye and before he knew what hit him, he was howling in pain while grasping his bleeding bicep. He looked up from his new position on the floor to see the psychic, alive, unbound, and holding a sharp nail in his left hand.

"What the f-ugh!" the Ghost yelled as a force crashed into him from behind. The detective had launched himself from his position in the chair directly into the blond, knocking them both to the cement ground in a pile of limbs. The Ghost attempted to recover and deliver a hit to the detective's jaw, but Lassiter saw it coming and blocked the assault, delivering one of his own to the other man's nose, which erupted into a fountain of red. This only fueled his anger as he regained leverage and kneed the detective hard in the midsection, flipping him over and onto the floor while climbing on top of him.

"C'mon Lassie!" Shawn yelled as he inched forward. He kept one eye on the tattooed man on the floor attempting to staunch the blood flow and his other eye on the fight ensuing in front of him. He clutched the nail in his left hand. The pain in his shoulder and leg forgotten at the moment, despite having to untie the bandage and belt and be forced back into an uncomfortable position. This was life or death.

"Shawn, stay back!" Lassiter yelled back while dodging a right hook and pushing the man away from him. The Ghost managed to get his hands around Lassiter's throat and pushed down hard into the cold ground. The detective gasped for air as he swiped at his assailant in vain. Black spots quickly began to dance around his vision and the detective knew he had to get out of this situation quick if they were going to have a chance. In a moment of desperation, Lassiter bent his neck toward the hand of the Ghost, biting down with as much force as possible on his forearm. The Ghost yelled and released his hold on the detective, giving Lassiter just enough time to regain the upper hand.

Shawn watched in slow motion as Lassiter delivered a devastating blow to the blond's jaw, causing him to fall backwards and land in a heap on the cement. The detective stood over him in a menacing manner. Shawn looked at him in awe, telling himself that when they got out of here, he was going to tell Lassie that he was a complete badass.

"Stay down." Lassiter said in a threatening tone. Shawn inched his way toward the detective and the fallen man. Lassiter refused to peel his eyes away from the psychotic kidnapper who now laid subdued in front of him. Shawn was only a few feet away when he felt his shirt collar tighten as he was yanked backward into the unforgiving hold of a strong and desperate man. "Ugh! Lassie!" Shawn yelled as he was pulled back and felt a familiar cold metal pressed against his temple. Lassiter turned toward them in horror as he caught sight of the bleeding man holding Shawn hostage at gunpoint.

"Let him go." He said as he moved toward the pair.

"I wouldn't do that." The man said as he forced the gun harder into Shawn's skin. Shawn hissed.

Lassiter stared wide-eyed as the situation played out in front of him. They were so close but now there was no way out that didn't end with one or both of them getting killed. To add to the pain of defeat, the Ghost slowly got up and pointed his own gun at Lassiter.

"Nice try, Detective. It was really actually quite clever." The Ghost said with a smile. "Now sit down." He demanded with a wave of his gun toward the chair. Lassiter shot Shawn a look of apology as he was forced into the chair, the ropes tied tightly once again and the feeling of failure and helplessness washing over him like an ocean tide. Tattoos walked with Shawn toward the detective. Shawn limped heavily and kept his right arm close to his chest. Lassiter could see the fresh blood blooming on his jeans.

"Since you were willing to risk everything back there with your little 'escape attempt' I am just going to ask this once. Are you going to give me what I want?" The Ghost hissed at Lassiter. Lassiter replied with a stone-cold glare. "Alright, I'll take that as a no. Guess what Shawn?" He said happily as he looked at the captive man, his face screwed up in pain from being held tightly upright by the stronger man. "It means we have no use for you anymore." He nodded his head toward the door and the larger man began dragging him backwards as Shawn began to struggle, the reality of the situation setting in.

"No! No! Don't you dare kill him!" The bound detective screamed at the back of the blond man. Shawn began struggling wildly against the man's grip, crying out in pain as the man pulled on his injured shoulder and forced his leg to support his weight.

"Lassie! Please no!" Shawn yelled. He knew he sounded pathetic but at this point, he didn't care. This man was dragging him to his future grave and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Stop! You sick son of a bitch I swear I'll kill you! He doesn't deserve this! Take me instead God dammit!" Lassiter yelled toward the trio.

"Sorry, Detective. That's not part of the deal. You said he doesn't deserve this. Are you going to give me the names or not?" The Ghost said as he made his way back over to the detective's chair. He grabbed a handful of Lassiter's hair and forced his head upward to look at Shawn. Lassiter could see the look of complete despair and fear radiating within his eyes. He also noticed how young and vulnerable Shawn looked in this very moment. His heart was pounding and his chest ached with grief. "So, detective?" Lassiter kept his eyes locked with Shawn's, not allowing himself the luxury of looking away and leaving him to suffer this alone. "I can't hear you." The blond leaned in closer to the detective.

Lassiter's lips trembled and a single tear escaped his eye as the word "no" whispered off his lips. The Ghost let go of his hair and allowed his head to drop back to his chest. Lassiter wanted to say a million things to Shawn but could only manage one. He locked his gaze with Shawn's.

"I'm sorry." He said as another tear rolled down his cheek. He could see that Shawn was crying too as the man maintained his grip across his chest. Before he could say anything more, the basement door was opened and the larger man pulled Shawn up the stairs as the injured man fought and yelled the entire way up. Lassiter was left alone. Alone in his grief. He no longer had a will to fight. He knew his fate would be the same as Shawn's sooner or later and at this point, he didn't care. He had failed the only person he needed to protect. The logical side of his brain told him that he did protect those he needed to. The dozens and dozens of undercover police officers were safe from exposure for now. But it didn't change the fact that he had to trade Shawn's life for it. He would have traded places in an instant.

It was silent for several minutes as the detective was left alone in his thoughts. A part of him hoped that it meant his captor had reconsidered. Maybe Shawn still had value or maybe this was all part of the mind game he was playing. Make him think that Shawn was being dragged away to his death just to make Lassiter lose hope and-

Lassiter's entire body flinched against his bonds as he heard the sharp retort of a gun just outside of the door to the room he was being held. He hung his head in defeat as the reality of that gunshot set in.

He glanced at the empty chair across the room from him. The only evidence of it ever being occupied was the cut rope and drops of blood coating the cement floor. The grief began to overwhelm him.

He had failed.

And Spencer paid the price.

* * *

 **Did I just do a cliffhanger? I'm sorry. Reviews speed things along ;)**


	4. Black

**I'm sorry...I hate cliffhangers too.**

Lassiter let his head sag against his chest and had no intention of moving from that position. He had a deep fear in the pit of his stomach that the door would swing open and his captors would enter with Shawn, depositing his lifeless body in front of the detective to remind him of what he had caused.

His heart ached for Shawn. What his last final moments must have felt like. How the fear must have overwhelmed him. But his heart mostly ached for those left behind. His father, his best friend, and everyone at the SBPD that Shawn had managed to form connections with. Shawn knew every person in that building and they knew him. But more importantly, he exuded a genuine kindness toward each and every one of them. Losing him meant that the station now bore an unfillable hole. He was simply a presence that couldn't be replaced, despite how much his presence used to irritate the detective.

Lassiter pulled at his bonds with a half effort. He knew it was pointless and because of recent events, he had a feeling he wasn't going to get out of here alive. There was a part of him that didn't even care. If he got out of this alive he'd have to face all of the people he let down. He'd have to live with the image of Shawn being dragged out of the room, bleeding and bruised, to his death.

But the other part of him wanted to avenge Shawn. He wanted to enact justice on the men that ruined the lives of so many people. The idea of Shawn dying in vain and the Ghost disappearing wherever he chooses ignited a fire in the detective's stomach. He wasn't going to go down without a fight.

A drop of sweat made its way down his face. As the afternoon approached, the temperature outside increased, which in turn caused the temperature inside the basement to rise. He wondered if he was simply left here. If they were really five miles away from any form of civilization, then it gave his captors plenty of time to vanish before he was able to contact anyone.

Then again, the Ghost lost his chance at one last score before disappearing. For some reason, he believed Lassiter would give him the information but inevitably failed at gaining what he wanted. Lassiter wondered if the Ghost would attempt to get the information somewhere else, and that only gave Lassiter more motivation to get out and end the man that caused him so much pain.

He struggled with the ropes with a bit more effort. The heat in the basement serving as another motivating factor. He stopped abruptly as he thought he heard voices. His anger swelled and he fought more furiously with the bindings. The sharpened edge he had used before had been filed down from the rope and refused to cut into it, but the detective knew that enough friction would cause the binds to eventually snap. Lassiter's wrists were bleeding freely but the adrenaline-fueled detective hardly noticed. Those voices were not part of his imagination.

And they were getting louder.

Lassiter estimated about ten seconds before the door creaked open. Unless he escaped the ropes, he did not have many options. He rubbed the ropes against the edge harder. He could feel the rope getting frayed and knew it could only take so much.

"C'mon, c'mon!"

Five seconds.

"Work with me..."

Two.

"Almost..."

The door unlatched with an echo across the barren walls. At the same moment, the ropes holding the detective raised a white flag and snapped. Lassiter untangled himself and as the door began to open, launched himself out of his chair. Just as the two men entered, Lassiter slammed his full body weight into door, knocking both men off their feet and giving him a momentary advantage.

 _Don't forget the guns._

Lassiter made a move toward Tattoos and ripped the gun from his waistband. Before he had a chance to aim, a hand shot out and knocked the gun from his grasp, sending it skidding across the cement floor. The hand grasped his leg but he shook it off and delivered a kick to the larger man's nose, momentarily subduing him.

The Ghost scrambled from the ground and went after the detective in a blind rage. He dove into Lassiter with the full force of his body, sending them crashing hard to the cement floor. The Ghost landed a punch on the detective's right cheek and Lassiter could see that the man's eyes were filled with pure fury.

"Haven't you caused me enough problems?!" He screamed as he landed another punch. Lassiter knew that the man's anger gave him an advantage and as he wound up to deliver another blow, Lassiter blocked his advance and flipped the man to the side, immediately holding him down. The Ghost attempted to wrench the detective's hands away, but Lassiter delivered several devastating blows to his head, causing his vision to blur and eventually fade to a hazy gray.

Just as the Ghost was taken out for the moment, Lassiter heard Tattoos making a break for the loose gun. Lassiter stepped away from the prone man and grabbed the large man before he could reach the gun. The two struggled for several moments until Lassiter placed a devastating kick to the man's knee, causing him to cry out and collapse.

Lassiter quickly turned toward the gun but he felt a sudden pull at his leg that brought him to the floor. Tattoos apparently still had fight in him as he began dragging the detective back toward him. The gun was just inches from Lassiter's fingertips but he knew he wasn't going to reach it. He turned his focus to the man holding his leg. Lassiter knew that the man thought he had the upper hand, however the experienced detective quickly realized the larger man was putting himself in a vulnerable position.

As Lassiter was pulled close enough to the man, he swung his leg over the man's head and locked his ankles together. The man's arm let go of his leg and flailed toward the detective's head. He immediately grasped the blindly reaching hand and held it to his chest and his thighs put unimaginable pressure on the other man's neck.

Slowly, the man stopped struggling. Lassiter knew this was a despicable man who, if escaped, posed extreme danger to the outside world. As the man finally passed out, the detective squeezed with enough force to break his neck. He knew he deserved to die, but this wasn't always the type of justice Lassiter wanted to see.

He released his hold and the lifeless man sagged to the floor. Lassiter craned his neck to see that the gun lay just a few feet away from him. What also lay a few feet away from him was the Ghost, now awake and reaching for his own gun.

Lassiter made a split second decision and pushed his body toward the gun, grasping it firmly and immediately turning toward the Ghost on the other end of the room.

Two guns sat poised at each other's owners. One gun sat in the palms of a determined detective. The other in the hands of a desperate criminal.

Two guns fired at once.

And with the echo of the two bullets, two separate worlds faded to black.

* * *

"Where is my son?!" The walls of the SBPD shook as the booming voice belonging to Henry Spencer bounced off the walls. He practically ran to the Chief's office, opening the door and barging in before anyone could interrupt.

"Mr. Spencer." She greeted calmly. Henry could see the dark circles beneath her red-rimmed eyes but he had no time for sympathy.

"Don't Mr. Spencer me. Where is my son?" He demanded.

"We don't know." She said sadly.

"What? What the hell happened?" His voice strained to a higher octave. He had very little details about the events that transpired the day before. He received a vague voicemail from Detective O'Hara stating that Detective Lassiter and Shawn were taken in what appeared to be a planned hit. He immediately booked a plane ticket back to Santa Barbara, cutting his annual Alaskan fishing trip short. After two connecting flights and one canceled flight, he finally made it to the airport where he took a taxi straight to the station.

"I'm sorry, Henry. But we have very little information at the moment."

"It's been nearly 24 hours, how is this possible? Are they even alive?" He asked in disbelief.

Karen paused as she forced herself to meet the desperate and worried eyes of Henry Spencer.

"Honestly at the moment, we simply don't know."

* * *

Disjointed shapes and shadows began to morph together, allowing the man to see once again. His heart was beating rapidly and a searing pain radiated from his head. He stared confused at the bland ceiling above him. Gray cement filled his eyes.

He realized he was laying face up with his arms outstretched. He felt a familiar weight in his right hand and glanced toward it. A gun sat loosely in his palm. His eyes continued to scan across the cement floor until he saw him.

The blond man lay on his back as well. Now-drying blood coated the pale complexion and made his blue eyes stand out in stark contrast. He didn't blink. His eyes remained frozen in place and his chest did not move with any breath.

Lassiter's vision blurred in and out, but he could clearly see the distinct hole from a bullet in the man's forehead.

 _He's dead._

Lassiter then remembered the other man who lay at his feet who met a similar fate. He felt relief wash over him as he realized these heinous human beings would never be able to hurt anyone else again.

He began to push himself up off the ground. As he managed to get into a sitting position, intense dizziness hit him and forced him to close his eyes. He reached toward his head and hissed as his hand made contact with the unknown wound. He pulled his hand away and found that it was coated in sticky bloody. He gingerly reaches toward the wound again, realizing a deep gash had carved a path on the edge of his hairline. Remarkably, it appeared to no longer be bleeding. That forced Lassiter to wonder how long he had been unconscious.

He shook out of his thoughts when he remembered the need to get out of this hell-hole. He crawled over to the blond man, reaching in his pockets until locating a cell phone. It was a different phone than he remembered the man having from the day prior.

 _A ghost needs to stay hidden I suppose._

He made the screen come to life but was disappointed to see that the "No Service" message greeting him. He figured it was highly unlikely to have service this far out without some other form of technology. It wouldn't surprise him if the Ghost has a means of gaining a signal, but given his current state, Lassiter decided it wouldn't be of any use in asking him. He placed the phone in his pocket and slowly made his way to his feet.

After a few tentative steps, he walked more steadily toward the open door of the basement. While grasping the railing, he went up the stairs and into the old house. Like he remembered before, there was nothing of use in the house. He turned toward the front door and reached for the handle.

He paused. His mind flashed a picture of Shawn laying dead just outside the door. A bullet hole in his chest and his eyes glazed over. The detective shuddered. Whatever lay on the other side of the door, Lassiter was unable to change. He had to face the reality of the situation and make his way back to civilization. Then a recovery team would be dispatched and Shawn's body would be taken care of as it should be. He deserved that much.

Lassiter took a deep breath and rotated the handle. His squinting eyes adjusted to the light as his body felt the intense heat beating down unobstructed into the earth. He stepped out into the dirt and took in his surroundings.

The dirt ground gave way to surrounding trees, which developed into a dense forest. The car that they were brought here in sat a few yards away from the detective. A glimmer of hope came to life in his mind.

He quickly made his way to the car and ripped open the plastic casing beneath the steering wheel. He figured he could go get the keys from the two men, but in all honesty he never wanted to go in that place again. He put the two wires together and waiting for the engine to roar to life however, all he received was a low hissing sound.

 _What the hell?_

Lassiter looked at the dashboard, immediately noticing that the needle pointed directly at the red "E."

His confusion peaked and he opened his door, stepping out into the unforgiving sun. _Why would the only car they took here be empty of gas?_ He made his way around the car and noticed a distinct hole just below the cap of the fuel tank. He looked beneath the car and saw a large stain in the dirt that was nearly dried and the distinct smell of gas reached his nose. It still made no sense to him.

 _Wait._

The detective in Lassiter kicked in and scenarios ran through his head rapidly. The Ghost said he was going to disappear. What better place to disappear than here? It was possible there was another building near here that the Ghost could hide away in and where he put his supplies to do so, even if it was only temporary. No one knows where this place is located and with no leads or ties to this location, he could exist without anyone's knowledge of him. It was only a theory, but even Lassiter agreed with himself that it wasn't very far-fetched, even if it wasn't entirely accurate.

A sudden pain in his head caused him to hitch forward and place a supporting hand on the trunk of the car. The heat from the metal had him quickly snatching his hand back and as he opened his eyes, he noticed a clear mark on the bumper of the car.

 _Blood._

The detective froze.

 _They killed Shawn and put him in the trunk to rot. Sick bastards._

As much as he didn't want to, Lassiter went back to the driver's side door and reached down for the trunk release button. It popped open in a smooth movement and Lassiter slowly crept toward the now open trunk. He held his breath as he caught sight of one of Shawn's signature sneakers. He slowly continued to make his way around the car. His heart was in his throat. He saw the large blood stain on the psychic's jeans, followed by his ripped plaid shirt. His hands lay limp against his stomach. Lassiter swallowed the lump building in his throat and finished his journey to the back of the car.

Shawn's face was bloody and bruised, just as he remembered it as he was dragged away just hours...or minutes before. The detective still had no idea how long he was out after the duel between him and the Ghost.

He looked peaceful. His eyes were closed and his face relaxed. The lines of pain had smoothed and the detective took slight comfort in the fact that the psychic no longer had to be in such awful physical pain. He glanced down at his bloodied leg just as another drip of red made its way across his already soaked jeans.

 _Wait._

The detective in him kicked into high gear, overriding the dormant concussion he had yet to acknowledge and forcing him to analyze this situation.

 _Dead men don't bleed._

The detective's eyes scrambled over the prone psychic as he rapidly searched for the fatal bullet hole. His eyes scanned his head and chest and his hands felt along the back of his head, coming back clean.

 _The gunshot..._

He thought back to the bullet hole in the car. His eyes stared intently at Shawn's chest, not believing what his detective instincts were telling him.

If he wasn't looking for it, he would have missed it. His eyes witnessed the slight but undeniable rise and fall as the psychic took a breath. Lassiter couldn't believe his eyes and before he knew it, he was grasping Shawn's shirt and shaking him in disbelief.

"Shawn?!"

* * *

 _42 minutes earlier._

Shawn felt the tears escaping his eyes as the detective mouthed "I'm sorry" to him and he was dragged roughly out the basement door. He yelled and fought and kicked and screamed at his captors until his voice was hoarse and the pain in his leg and shoulder made him unable to move anymore.

He was being dragged away to be killed and there was nothing he could do about it. As much as he hated to admit it, he was terrified. He didn't want to die. There was so much he was leaving behind and so many people wouldn't know how much they actually meant to him. Take away Shawn's outer layer of humor and movie references and one would see that he is anchored to those he loves, only they don't even realize how much he does love them. Gus, his dad, Jules...

He was pushed through the front door and left to fall onto the dirt. He noticed that it was already incredibly hot outside and all he hoped for at this point was that Lassiter would be able to get out of here and back to Santa Barbara.

"Alright psychic." The Ghost hissed at him. "Our time here is done."

Shawn closed his eyes as the man raised his gun. Shawn was shaking. Whether it was from fear or pain he didn't know, but the fact that he was about to die was screaming at him throughout his brain. The sharp retort of the gun caused him to flinch violently. He waited for the pain but it never came. He slowly opened his eyes to see that the gun was no longer aimed at him. He caught the faint smell of gasoline and became very confused at this turn of events.

The Ghost noticed his captive's change in demeanor. "Don't get your hopes up. You're going to wish this bullet was for you. Detective Lassiter now thinks you're dead, so point for me. The problem is, I'm not letting you off that easily." Shawn inwardly cringed. "Since I obviously made a mistake picking you for this job, you have to pay the price." He said as Tattoos popped open the trunk.

"What th-" was all Shawn was able to say before the Ghost slammed the butt of his gun into the side of Shawn's head. Shawn didn't even feel himself fall.

* * *

"Shawn! Shawn! Wake up! C'mon, please! We will be okay if you wake up you stubborn bastard!" Lassiter yelled desperately. He was rewarded with a few slow blinks from the not-dead psychic. Gradually, Shawn's eyes opened fully and Lassiter could see he was struggling to focus on the images in front of him.

"Shawn? It's Lassit-it's Lassie. C'mon, can you hear me?"

"Hot." The psychic breathed out with a sigh. With all that had happened, Lassiter forgot about the unforgiving heat they were now trapped in. He looked around at his surroundings, realizing that they were basically exposed to the heat no matter where they went. Lassiter decided that inside was better than outside, so he bent down, looping one arm underneath Shawn's knees and the other around the middle of his back. He carefully lifted him out of his prison and carried him back toward the small structure.

He saw an old cushion and placed Shawn gently on the ground so his head was propped on the semi-soft surface. He scanned the room for anything that might help them but came up empty-handed. Shawn was still sweating profusely which was actually a good sign. It meant the psychic had not crossed the threshold into heat stroke. If he had, he would be in grave danger. The detective knew that Shawn still needed to be cooled down and given fluids, but he couldn't guarantee either of those things at the moment.

Shawn blinked away the droplets of sweat that attempted to drip into his eyes. He was unbearably hot but now that he was out of the trunk, he at least felt like he was breathing real air again. For the first time since being released from the trunk, he looked up at Lassiter and was able to focus on his features. "You're bleeding." He said slowly.

"So are you."

"Oh."

Lassiter could tell Shawn's brain was processing things slower than usual. He hoped that Shawn was not in the trunk long enough to be considered dangerous to his health. Then again, Shawn already had enough dangers to his health. Lassiter pulled the cellphone out of his pocket, noting that there was still no change in the status of the signal.

"Where're they?" Shawn said as he let his eyes close again. Lassiter placed a comforting hand on the psychic's uninjured shoulder.

"They're gone. They will never hurt you ever again."

"Kay." Shawn managed before his body relaxed and he fell into a state of unconsciousness.

Now that Shawn was asleep...or passed out...Lassiter gently began removing his extra layers of clothes. His ripped flannel was removed, along with his shoes, socks, and bloodied jeans. He was left in a white t-shirt and boxers. Lassiter felt slightly awkward because he had never seen the man so exposed, but the rational side of him told him that it was necessary for survival. Once Shawn recovered enough to be coherent and hopefully mobile, they'd be leaving this godforsaken place until they stumbled across civilization or gained a signal to call for rescue. Lassiter had to admit that it wasn't the best plan, but it was their only plan.

He looked down at the pale and injured man below him. His thigh was slick with blood and the cut still oozed lazily. He reached for Shawn's shirt and ripped it into strips, using the larger pieces to wrap around his thigh and the rest of the shirt to be used as a pressure bandage. Satisfied that one problem was taken care of, he felt along the psychic's shoulder to make sure it was still in place. It was swollen, but the joint appeared to be intact. Lassiter moved onto the psychic's head wound from the initial accident. He used the one remaining strip of fabric to wipe away the excess blood, which only revealed more bruising. Lassiter also caught sight of the lump forming above the psychic's ear, realizing that the Ghost or his henchman must have knocked Shawn out before putting him in the trunk. _Add concussion to the list._

He felt Shawn's skin. He was still clammy but no longer sweating heavily. It was hot in the small house but much hotter outside. Lassiter hoped that Shawn would recover soon so they could finally leave, even if that meant carrying him.

For now, all the detective could do was wait.

 **So?**

 **Plenty of Shawn and Lassie interaction coming. They still have a long road. Sorry for any typos.**


	5. Descent

Shawn was in and out of consciousness for the better part of two hours. During that time, Lassiter monitored his patient for any sudden changes. To Lassiter's relief, Shawn remained stable and his body temperature appeared to start to return back to normal. He sympathized as he watched Shawn go through periods of distress. His breath would quicken and his muscles strained as he mumbled incoherently about nothing.

When Lassiter could tell the psychic was in a period of deep rest, he began to utilize his surroundings. First, he returned to the hellhole of a basement to scavenge from the two downed captors. He returned with a knife and a second gun, shutting the door behind him hopefully for the last time. Next, he returned to the car. Between discovering it's emptied tank to finding Shawn, Lassiter hadn't been too keen on searching the interior or trunk.

Now that he had the time, he searched the car thoroughly. The interior would appear to have nothing of use to the average person, but for Lassiter, it was a relative gold mine. Underneath the passenger seat his hand came across an extremely hot but unopened water bottle. The parched detective allowed himself a few small sips of the precious liquid before closing the cap and checking the trunk. Inside, he found a zipped duffel bag, which, after some ruffling, he quickly discovered it contained a few pieces of clothing; it was most likely a gym bag of the car's previous owner. He put the bag on his shoulder and continued looking in the trunk. After lifting a pull tab in the corner, he discovered a first aid kit. Given, the kit was one of those that came with the car, but the detective was sure he could find something of use in there to help the injured psychic inside.

He returned to the house with his findings, noting that Shawn's position was unchanged. He opened the kit and rummaged through its contents. Gauze, latex gloves, bandaids, antiseptic wipes, tape, a single-use cold compress, and pain relievers greeted the detective. He immediately popped the cold compress, activating its ingredients, and placed it on Shawn's head, specifically near the lump above his right ear.

 _Might as well kill two birds with one ice pack._

The psychic stirred slightly at the contact but his eyes remained closed. The detective put on the latex gloves since they were available. Lassiter grabbed an antiseptic wipe and wiped away the blood and grime from Shawn's face. He dabbed at the gash on his hairline, causing Shawn to flinch away with a hiss.

"Relax, it's for your own good." He said as he continued to clean the angry wound. Once he was satisfied, he grabbed a butterfly bandage, pinching the cut so the skin closed together, and applied the bandage. For cleanliness sake, he placed a larger bandage over that as well.

Next, he moved on to the psychic's thigh. In the pit of Lassiter's stomach lay the knowledge that infection could be lurking within the wound, especially if they didn't get help soon. He gently removed the tattered pieces of clothing serving as a current bandage and then cleaned the exposed skin with another antiseptic wipe.

Shawn immediately jerked into consciousness as the contact awoke the nerve endings in his thigh with a vengeance. He weakly attempted to grasp Lassiter's offending hands but the detective pushed them away. Bleary hazel eyes met his bloodshot blues. "Lassie what're ya doin'?"

"I found a first aid kit. I'm cleaning out the cut on your thigh. So shush." He said as he continued to clean the area. Once he was satisfied, he grabbed the rest of the butterfly bandages and began pinching together the deep wound.

"Wait Lassie." Shawn said as he raised his hand to point toward the detective.

"You need stitches, but these will have to do for now." Lassiter said as he continued unwrapping them.

"No, you need one too." Shawn said as he pointed toward the cut on the detective's head. "Where'd you get that anyway?" He said as his arm fell back to the floor.

"Long story, but it's not bleeding anymore so yours takes precedence."

"I'm not running for president." Shawn said lazily.

"It's not...nevermind. I have plenty of bandages in here for both of us so relax." He finished applying the small strips then grabbed a square of gauze and tape. He taped a secure square over the wound and hoped it would stay in place. He was worried that as soon as the psychic attempted to move, the wound would reawaken and begin bleeding again. He decided they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. He looked down at Shawn and saw him reaching for the ice pack on his head.

"That's the only one we've got so use it wisely." Shawn grabbed it and pressed it against his shoulder, sighing in relief at the contact. Lassiter reached back into the kit.

"Think you can sit up and swallow these pills? I found water. It's hot, but it's liquid." Shawn's eyes widened at the mention of water. The past day gave him more important problems than thirst but now that many of those problems were eliminated, the psychic was realizing just how thirsty he really was. Lassiter helped him into a sitting position and handed him the pills. He helped him take a drink, urging the injured man to take it slow.

"Easy, it's all we've got for now." Lassiter said as he pulled the water away and screwed the cap back on. Now that Shawn was in a sitting position, he took the time to look down at his current state of clothing.

"Uh Lassie, where are my clothes?"

"You were overheated when I pulled you from that trunk. All I could do to help was remove your excess clothing."

"Well, thanks I guess." The psychic said with a half shrug. "Anything in that bag of use?"

Lassiter began removing items of clothing from the bag. Gym shorts, sweatpants, a T-shirt, a hoody, sneakers, and a roll of black tape came out.

"Oh that's that kinky-ology tape. Gus uses it sometimes when his calves hurt at his tap classes. Wow, I can't believe I just said that out loud."

"You mean kinesiology tape?" The detective said with a shake of his head.

"I've heard it both ways. The former sounds more fun."

"The latter sounds more useful."

"Well Lassie that depends on the situation."

"Our given situation has a bleeding and bruised idiot on the floor that's in need of a hospital. At least this tape can put some pressure on your thigh."

"Well that doesn't sound very fun." Shawn said with a frown.

"Neither does bleeding out, now let me take care of this." Lassiter said as he began wrapping the tape around the already in place bandage. The tape felt incredibly sticky, which was great to keep things in place but bad for Shawn's leg hair. The detective did feel sympathetic for the psychic on the ground in front of him. Shawn was hiding it well, but between the concussion, bruises, swollen shoulder, and injured thigh, he knew the man was in more pain than those pills could dull.

"How's that feel?"

"Like a Swedish massage. Think those shorts will fit me?" Shawn said as he looked at his bloodied jeans in disgust.

"Yeah. I think I can make a good sling out of this T-shirt too. It'll do better than the belt." Lassiter said as he used the knife to slice into the fabric. He felt repulsed as he saw a few specks of dried blood near the hilt of the knife, knowing sure and well where that blood came from. "Here, try this." The detective said as he encased the psychic's arm in the fabric and tied a knot to rest on his opposite shoulder.

"Never thought I'd say this Lassie but you make a pretty good nurse."

"Oh shut up. Think you'll be okay if I go look around outside for a little bit? The sun will be going down within an hour or two. I'm trying to get a signal." He said as he pulled the phone from his pocket. The psychic nodded. Lassiter moved the water closer to him and warned him to only drink small amounts if needed.

Shawn watched the door close behind the detective and he was left in the run-down house alone. Well, sort of alone. Shawn still didn't know the story of how Lassiter escaped and how their captors disappeared, but he had a feeling that behind the closed door to the basement lay the answer. He shuddered as the memories of the last 24 hours flashed before his photographic memory.

Every hit, every threat, and every wound on his body replayed in his mind. Lassiter's desperate plea as he was dragged away, the Ghost's breath on his neck, the retort of the gun...Shawn squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to think of better things.

 _Jules. Jules' hair. Jules' eyes. Jules and pineapples._

Shawn would kill for a pineapple right now. He knew he was hungry but he still felt slightly nauseated. The pains in his body had abated slightly due to the low-power pain medication, but he knew any movement would bring them back to life. Gingerly, he lowered himself back down so his head rested on the cushion. In the back of his mind he knew they couldn't stay in this place much longer, so while he could, he enjoyed the rest. At one point or another, he closed his eyes.

Lassiter returned within the hour, sweating and frustrated due to the heat and lack of signal he was able to obtain. However, he did learn some useful information about their whereabouts. He approached the downed psychic and tapped him until he woke up. "Up and at 'em, Spencer." To his relief, Shawn woke up quickly and looked even more coherent than he did before.

"So I learned a few things. One, there is no signal out here. Two, the path that they drove the car on goes up the mountain and ends here. The direction up is east and the direction down and away from the path is west, given the sunset. Because of the foliage and the amount of time it took to get here, our only beneficial option is to go west. We at least know that's headed toward the coast where there are plenty of towns and more hiking trails but if we head east, we might find ourselves in the middle of the Los Padres forest with no sign of civilization anywhere. Now, he said there's no civilization for five miles, however, the areas outside of Santa Barbara are heavily hiked. Given the heat wave, I don't imagine many people are out here, but if we stumble across a ranger station for the forest, that will be enough to save our asses. Or, we get a signal and call for help. The bottom line is, we need to leave as soon as possible and start this trek. Do you think you can manage?"

"I would much rather take a Slip 'n Slide to the bottom of this mountain and right back to Santa Barbara, but I suppose I can handle this." Shawn replied. In reality, he was not looking forward to roughing it with the lanky detective. He knew walking on his leg would be excruciating and the chances were high that they might have to spend a night or two out in the elements. Shawn hoped the cell phone would get a signal before then.

"Well, there's no time like the present." The detective said as he gathered their things and placed them in the duffel bag. He helped Shawn to his feet, who swayed slightly as his body adjusted, then painfully limped toward the door. After a few steps, the limp became less severe, but still blatantly noticeable.

"Five miles you say?" The psychic said with a turn of his head.

"Five miles."

* * *

The SBPD continued to search for leads on their missing comrades. Juliet could not understand how people could simply vanish without a trail or trace left behind. Her frustration and weariness began to eat away at her to a point where the Chief demanded she go home. She refused, that is, until an equally weary looking Henry Spencer approached her and demanded she rest as well.

"You're not going to be able to help my son or your partner in this condition." He said gruffly.

"I...I'm sorry." She said, nearly on the verge of tears.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. Every case gets a break, it's not your fault it hasn't happened yet. The Chief will call if we have any updates." Henry said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. In truth, he was equally frustrated at the lack of evidence or leads the department was able to collect. He feared that his son and the detective could already be dead. But until that idea was confirmed, he was going to keep fighting until he searched all ends of the earth.

* * *

"Why...do people...do this...for fun?" The psychic said through panting breaths as the duo navigated a particularly difficult area of terrain. He resorted to sliding on his rear, pushing himself forward with his left hand and bracing his descent with his uninjured leg.

"Stupid hippies." Lassiter said, equally as panting.

The two had been "hiking" for over an hour. The sun continued its descent across the sky, casting shadows on the ground and finally cooling the air, although nothing felt cool about it. Lassiter checked for a signal constantly but to no avail. He attempted to send a message to his partner's cell phone but each time it was rejected. As if the device couldn't frustrate him even more, it began to warn him of a draining battery. That forced the detective to turn the phone off and only check it at specific periods. He figured the closer they got to civilization, the more likely it was to get a signal, so they pressed on.

The shallow burning in Shawn's thigh had festered into an agonizing fire. Every step sent sharp stabs of pain throughout his muscle, forcing him to clench his teeth and limp heavily. He once again forced himself to think of better things.

Another hour passed and the detective noted that Shawn hadn't said anything for the time being. He maintained a slow but steady pace, each step eliciting a sharp breath and heavy limp, but the psychic refused to let up, minus a few stops for a sip of water. The sun was quickly losing its battle with the horizon. It's remaining rays fizzling out from orange to red to pink, eventually giving in to the deep purple and blue of the night. Lassiter noted that the forest had dissipated and only small trees and shrubs dotted the landscape, meaning they were getting closer to familiar land. He estimated they had at least gone two miles, given the rough terrain and Shawn's pace. As Lassiter was busy checking the stars, he heard the sound of loose rocks slipping followed by a sharp cry from the psychic.

"Spencer!" The detective yelled as he grasped his left arm to keep him from falling completely.

"Ah! Sh-Stupid rocks!" He said as he sagged heavily in Lassiter's grip. Lassiter gently lowered him to the ground to lean against a nearby rock. "No...Lassie we need to keep going...gotta...gotta get home." The detective was taken aback by Spencer's comments. He sounded delirious.

"No, it's okay. We need to rest."

"But they don't even know where...where we are. They don't even know where to _look!"_ Shawn said in an exasperated tone.

"Shawn, you need to calm down." The detective said as he placed a firm hand on the psychic's uninjured shoulder and another on his uninjured thigh. If he didn't know any better, Shawn appeared to be on the verge of a panic attack. A combination of the physical exertion, a concussion, dehydration, blood loss, and heat exhaustion would do that to him. Seeing him in this state was greatly unnerving. He gently placed a hand on the psychic's forehead, noting the warmth of his skin. However, whether that was from the beginnings of a fever or simply the outside temperature, the detective didn't know.

Shawn's breathing began to even out and slow down. "You with me, Spencer?"

"Y-yeah." He said shakily. "I don't know what happened."

"It's okay. You've been through a lot. Your body is telling you it needs to rest."

"But we need to get out of here." Shawn said as he looked around at his darkening surroundings.

"We won't be able to get out of here if you pass out on me. We are going to stop for a bit, maybe even the night, okay? It's not ideal, but our options are limited." Lassiter said as he let Shawn take a few sips of water and swallow two more pills. He took the cell phone out of his pocket, sighing as the screen still refused to display any bars of service. He attempted to send another message before turning the phone off again.

"Okay, Spencer, try to get some rest before we get going again." The detective said to Shawn, whose body had already given into the demands of unconsciousness.

* * *

Miles away, a phone buzzed. Immediately snatched up by its owner, the message was read with a gasp.

 _"It's Lassiter. We escaped. Somewhere in Los Padres, heading west. Don't have signal. Trying to make it back to civilization ~5 miles. Had to stop. Spencer hurt. Not many options."_

Juliet attempted to call the number that texted her, but the call would not got through. She then speed-dialed the Chief as she threw her shoes on and ran out to her car in the dark.

It was going to be another sleepless night.

 **Not too exciting...more of build up. Plenty to come. Reviews are very motivating ;)**


	6. Fight

**Still don't own it. Some spoilers for "Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark"**

Juliet was greeted with a myriad of questions as she reentered the police station she had left just a few hours before. There was a flurry of activity focused in the Chief's office and around several of the computers on the floor. The Chief was ordering various officers to call certain resources and others to call in the tech specialists. She could see through the doors of the Chief's office sat Henry Spencer, evidently ordered to remain out of the chaos. She approached the herd of officers where she was immediately intercepted by her superior.

"O'Hara, we need that cell phone immediately. What's the status of those techs?" She yelled out to no one in particular.

"Ten minutes!" Yelled another voice from within the mob.

"I've got air support on the line, they have a chopper ready at your command." An officer said from a borrowed desk.

"Tell them to hold. We need to narrow down our search area if we even hope to find them out there."

"Have you received any other messages?" She asked the blonde detective.

"No. I tried to call the number back but it wouldn't go through. The phone has to be off or out of service, like Carlton said."

"Damn, I just wish we had more information. Let's go in my office."

Juliet followed on autopilot. The pulls of sleep that had her within its grasp were shaken off. The flurries of hope within her stomach kept the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

A tense-looking Henry Spencer greeted her as they closed the doors to shut out the noise. "Did you find out anything else? He said Shawn's hurt? And they are out in the elements? We need to—"

"Henry," Chief Vick interrupted, "we are currently doing everything physically possible to get a plan in motion. We want to find them just as much as you do, especially is Mr. Spencer is injured."

 _"Had to stop. Spencer hurt. Not many options."_

Juliet's mind flashed back to the blood stain in the car. She knew it was from Shawn, but she didn't want to believe it. She was mostly terrified about the fact that she had no idea what the severity of Shawn's or her partner's injuries were. If they were physically unable to keep going, it couldn't be good.

"O'Hara?" The Chief's voice brought her back from her thoughts. "I was saying that we are going to see if we can find out where that message was sent from. Obviously if the phone is turned off or out of reach, we can't track it. But if there are cell phone towers that we can trace the signal back to, we can at least find out their location within a radius of a few miles."

Henry looked out the window to the blackened night. Wherever they were, he prayed that they would make it out alive.

* * *

Shawn awoke to someone brushing his hair off of his damp forehead. It was oddly comforting, and his muddled mind wondered who would be doing such a thing.

"Jules?" He said quietly as he leaned into the touch. Somewhere in his mind he noticed that the hand was larger and tougher than Jules', but he still hoped it was her.

"No, Spencer it's me." Came a low voice to his right.

"Lassie? Why are you petting me?" Said Shawn as he blinked open his eyes. He was met with mostly darkness and he could barely make out the detective sitting next to him.

"I'm not...what? I'm trying to feel if you have a fever."

"And?"

"You're safe for now. How's the rest of you?"

Shawn took the time to examine the various aches of his body. He first noticed that he was leaning uncomfortably against a hard surface. He attempted to shift away but the throbbing in his shoulder increased in intensity and he decided against it. His entire midsection felt like one big bruise, thanks to the fists of the tattooed muscle-man. The one thing Shawn was surprised to feel was that his leg felt oddly numb. He supposed it could be from the position he sat in for however long, but he wasn't going to complain for the moment. His head pounded behind his eyes. The lump above his ear had transformed into a tender bruise, which he discovered with a wince as he reached up to touch it. He should've know, he'd been hit with a gun before.

"Okay."

"I want you to take more of these." The detective said as he passed along two more pills followed by the now-dwindling bottle of water. "We need to get moving soon. The sun should be up in an hour or two and—"

"What? I've been asleep that long?" Shawn asked. Lassiter could see his eyes widen in surprise. The detective's eyes had long since adjusted to the dim light. He refused to sleep out of fear that the psychic would take a turn for the worse or another inhabitant of the night would interrupt their slumber. He kept watch for the hours the psychic slept.

"Well, half of it was sleep and the first half was just you passing out on me. Do you remember what happened?"

Shawn scanned his memory. He remembered their arduous and miserable trek down the mountain. He remembered the absolute agony radiating from his leg. He remembered wanting nothing more than to get home, even if it meant walking all night. He remembered slipping, then sitting, then very little from that point. "Mostly."

Seeing Shawn actually give serious answers that didn't spawn into a never ending story was an interesting experience for the detective. He was so used to Shawn's usual antics that this side of him was something he had never seen before.

Shawn's stomach growled. He couldn't even remember the last meal he had. He remembered begging for a smoothie before the car chase from hell, but besides that, the psychic couldn't recall the last time he ate. "Lassie? If we get out of here, _then_ can I have that smoothie?"

That sounded more like the typical psychic. "I'll put it this way, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner you get your smoothie."

"Well I'm ready when you are." Shawn said back, although in truth he wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep more.

"We need to wait a little bit longer until you can see farther than three feet. Can't risk any falls because I'm not carrying you."

"Aw come on Lassie, you'd be my hero."

"Sorry Spencer, but I'm not letting you play the part of Damsel in Distress." Lassiter replied with a roll of his eyes.

Shawn gave a slight laugh which turned into a cringe as he wrapped an arm around his ribs. "God, I can't wait to sleep for a week...in an actual bed." He shifted painfully again. "Think you can help me sit on top of this rock instead of leaning against it?"

Lassiter stood up and moved to Shawn's other side, grasping his left hand and pulling him into a momentary standing position. He helped Shawn lower himself to sit on the same rock, stepping away and shaking his own legs out to wake them up.

"My butt is tingling."

"Thanks for that necessary information." Lassiter said as he looked up to the sky. The first signs of light were making their way over the horizon.

Shawn allowed himself to use his good arm to leverage himself into a straighter position, stretching out the kinks in his back and awakening his aching body. The short journey from the ground to the rock left him breathless. He felt shaky. Whether it was from lack of food or blood loss or...the list went on. In the back of his mind, he knew he was in trouble. His body was starting to give up on him and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He hoped that the nearest city or resource lay within an easy walking distance.

Lassiter turned on the phone in his hand. It still told him that service was nonexistent, and the red battery icon was now blinking in distress. Lassiter growled in frustration as he quickly turned the phone off again. He figured it would only be able to turn on one or two more times.

He hoped, but doubted, that any of his messages got through. Even if they did, he wasn't sure the SBPD would be in a position to offer them immediate help. Once again, he forced himself into the mindset that they were on their own.

* * *

Throughout the night, the SBPD had worked to narrow down possible locations of the two missing comrades. As the techs attempted to do an impossible trace on the phone, the others mapped off areas that were devoid of civilization for five miles. Given the fact that they were searching a national forest, several areas could fall within that category.

Frustration was high among everyone, so when the techs informed the Chief that they would need to trace a call in order to determine a location, she wanted to curse the 21st century's lack of useful technology. However, she knew that her detective would call them as soon as he was able. She just hoped it would be soon...

* * *

Sharp rays of sunlight peeked above the horizon, bathing the ground in a pale yellow, matching the shade of the dead grass that was currently being stomped across by two pairs of feet. A pair of loafers led the charge while a pair of sneakers followed at a slower pace.

"You good, Spencer?"

"Awesome. Ready for that smoothie." He said breathlessly. He was dizzy. Black spots danced around his vision as he struggled to focus on the back of the detective in front of him for the past hour or so.

He really hated concussions.

The pills had allowed his shoulder to fade to background noise but the walking made his leg erupt into a sea of new pain. Once again, each step brought on new waves of fire that left the psychic straining to keep his mouth shut. They had just begun their new trek and he couldn't already be showing weakness.

To his disappointment, the landscape refused to fade into a nearby city. They were forced to navigate up one of the many rolling hills of Southern California, stopping several times to give their bodies a break. It wasn't particularly steep but the hill felt like it went on forever. Shawn figured it took them over an hour just to clear it.

Once they reached the top of the hill, Shawn allowed himself to collapse not-so-gracefully into the soft dirt. His leg was raging and his head was spinning. He didn't even care about the pain in his shoulder anymore. He was feeling even more dizzy than before. He thought if he sat down for a bit it would abate, but the psychic unfortunately learned that would not be the case.

Lassiter looked around at the surrounding landscape. He couldn't make out any buildings in any direction he looked. The hill wasn't very high, but a part of him hoped that it would be high enough to see a city or town within reach.

 _Where the hell are we?_

He looked down to see Shawn struggling to regain composure. His lips were drawn in a tight line and he breathed harshly through his nose. His left hand covered his eyes. Lassiter could see he was shaking.

"Hey Shawn. Think you can drink some more water?"

The psychic gave a quick shake of his head. The detective reached down to feel his forehead, which was already dotted with sweat. It was already beginning to heat up outside, even though it was only early morning. As Lassiter placed his hand on the psychic's bandaged head, he could immediately tell that he was hotter than he should be.

"You're working up a fever." He said flatly. Shawn gave a slight whimper and his eyes shot open, meeting Lassiter's. The detective didn't need words to know what was wrong with him. He helped Shawn lean to the side as he threw up the little that remained in his stomach.

"Now you think you can take a drink?" Lassiter asked, concern evident in his voice.

Shawn nodded and shakily took the nearly-empty bottle, allowing himself a few small sips. He handed the bottle back to the detective, who screwed the cap back on and put it in the duffel.

"I'm not uh...I'm not feeling too good, Lassie."

"I know."

"I think it might be better if you went and—"

"No!" The detective shot back abruptly. "I am _not_ leaving you out here."

Shawn stared back at him in silence.

"Listen, the bottom line is that your leg is most likely infected, hence the fever. We both know you have a concussion, which is why you feel dizzy and nauseated. We need to move and get the hell out of here before you get worse. We have to run into something eventually."

"Eventually..." Shawn gave a weak laugh.

"I know this situation isn't ideal. But remember a few months ago? That situation was far from ideal as well. The difference was you were alone."

Shawn flashed back to the last time he was kidnapped. Shot and bleeding, he managed to withstand being held and nearly tortured for an entire day. He even managed to jump across cars going over 60 miles per hour and walk away from the whole thing...well mostly walk away. He may have collapsed to the dirt next to Lassiter's car following the entire ordeal, but he made it to where he needed to be.

"I know you remember everything about that day. I know it seemed hopeless at times and I know at the end when we finally got you, you were running on fumes of adrenaline. But you did it."

"Longmore was a heck of a lot nicer than this guy."

"We can't change what has happened, but it's up to you to decide to keep going. There's a lot of people looking for us and waiting for our safe return."

"What kept me going that day was...well after I talked to Juliet. I knew you guys were coming for me."

Lassiter just listened as the psychic continued.

"But I didn't know if I'd be alive or not by the time you got to me so I, I told her I loved her."

It was evident that Lassiter did not know about this part of the story as he raised his eyebrows at the man below him.

"I ended it with Abigail's name but it was for her..." he said sadly. "I figured I might not get a chance to say it again."

"Spencer, if that is how you really feel, I need you to use that as motivation to keep pushing. You know that Juliet is tearing down every inch of Southern California looking for us, and she will never forgive you if you just give up now." He knew it was somewhat harsh to use Juliet against him like that, but if it gave him the energy to keep going, it was worth it.

Shawn closed his eyes against another wave of dizziness. As he talked about Juliet, he felt the fire in his heart burn a little brighter. He decided he was going to push his body past its limits because giving up at this point was not an option.

"Let's go home." Shawn said with a slight grin that he forced on his lips.

 _Fake it till you make it. Ironic for a fake psychic._ Shawn thought as Lassiter helped him back to his feet.

The detective allowed Shawn to lean on him as they made their way down the other side of the hill. It was slow going, but the detective was relieved that Shawn was willing to keep fighting. Seeing him so drained of energy and on the verge of giving up was frightening, especially since they were so close.

They navigated through a few small trees before it cleared out, revealing a beautiful sight to both of the men.

A medium sized river crossed their path. Water rose and descended upon rocks, weaving its way along the dry land. The two men picked up their pace and dropped to the ground in front of the river, drinking in as much water as they could.

The cold fluid was a blessing to both parched throats. The warm water from the bottle had kept them alive and going for this long but this water rejuvenated both their minds and bodies.

"Screw smoothies..." Shawn said as he leaned over the river again, taking several larger swallows before reemerging.

Lassiter actually smiled. "Take it easy or you'll puke again."

Shawn took a few more swallows before rolling over carefully to be on his back. The sun beat down on his exposed face but he was too busy relishing in the relief of the water to notice. Suddenly, a wet piece of fabric covered his eyes, the cool water from the river relieving his aching head.

"Thanks." He said to the detective without actually moving.

"Thank Mother Nature." Lassiter replied.

He filled up the water bottle and splashed several handfuls of water over his own head, momentarily washing away the heat from the relentless sun. Part of him wanted to remain right where they were, however, that assumed that they were being searched for and that those searching actually knew where to look. He looked around at their surroundings, noting the river fading off into the north and south of them.

"Wait a minute. I might know where we are." The detective said slowly. Shawn removed the damp fabric on his head and sat up, which was a difficult task with the T-shirt turned sling currently resting against him. "There are only a handful of creeks and rivers in the Los Padres and several of them connect to Sespe Creek which flows right along 33. If I had to guess, this is John Creek. It is one of the only ones that flows north to south."

"Creek isn't really an appropriate name for this beast." Shawn said as he gestured toward the semi-raging river.

"Sometimes during this time of year it's actually completely dried up. Thank god we had one of the rainiest winters in a while."

"You know way too much about the wilderness here. Eagle Scout?"

"Yes."

"Why am I not surprised?" Shawn said with a slight shake of his head, although immediately regretting it as the dizziness reminded him that it was still there.

"Hey, it's a prestigious title." Lassiter replied.

"Mmhm."

Lassiter allowed them to sit for a little bit longer before he made his way over to Shawn, who had occasionally reached behind himself to dip the fabric in the cool water and place it back over his eyes.

"Before we get moving again, I want to take a look at your leg."

"No time like the present." Shawn replied, still enjoying the coolness from the fabric.

"Okay, well I can't guarantee that this won't hurt." Lassiter said with a touch of sympathy.

"I'll be fine."

Lassiter carefully used the sharp tip of the knife to cut away tape and gauze, exposing an angry red wound. Lassiter gently prodded the area, noting the warmth radiating from the wound and the amount of pus and blood oozing between the strips of butterfly bandages holding the skin together. It wasn't a pretty sight and based on Shawn's reaction to the touch, it certainly looked about as worse as it felt. However, Lassiter knew that the wound could look much worse. No sign of infection in his blood was evident yet and the fever was currently being managed by the cool water of the river.

"How is it?" Shawn asked quietly.

"It's not pretty, but it could be worse." Lassiter said as he grabbed the last antiseptic wipe from the bag. "I'm going to clean it again. It's not going to feel good."

Shawn just sighed as he lowered the fabric to his mouth, biting down tentatively. He figured it would be better than screaming and given how painful it was just for the detective to touch around the wound, Shawn didn't even want to imagine the pain that was about to come.

As soon as the alcohol made contact with his leg, Shawn stiffened and instinctively bit down on the fabric. Lassiter methodically cleaned the area and the edges of the cut, removing as much blood and pus as possible. Shawn dug the heal of his uninjured leg into the dirt and Lassiter could feel his entire body shaking.

"Almost done, hang in there." He said as he continued his ministrations. Shawn's nostrils flared as he breathed hard and fast through his nose. A muffled sound escaped his lips just as Lassiter finished with the wipe. "I'm leaving the strips over the wound but I'm replacing the outer bandage and tape." He explained as he pressed the gauze in place, eliciting another groan from the psychic. He made quick work of the tape, ensuring that the bandage was secure and put pressure on the still-seeping wound.

"Okay done." He said as he leaned back, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, mindful of his own healing wound.

Shawn pulled the fabric from his mouth and attempted to slow his breathing. He knew that cleaning out the wound was necessary, but the pain from it drained him of his newly-gained energy. He felt himself falling...

"Whoa hey! No sleeping on me yet." Lassiter said as he poured some water over the psychic's forehead.

"'m tired." Shawn slurred.

"Too bad, so am I. We need to follow this river back to the highway. We are farther away from civilization than I thought. We are out near Ojai."

"Just gimme a minute." The psychic said with his eyes still closed. Lassiter mustered as much patience as he could and pulled out the cell phone once again.

 _Please. Please. Please._

The phone sprang to life and as the screen loaded, the detective stared at the service icon. The battery icon blinked at him angrily. After spinning for several seconds, Lassiter was rewarded with a "4G" icon denoting that he was finally given the gift of service.

"Yes! Spencer wake up! We are getting out of here." The detective was greeted by silence. He looked down to see Shawn, once again fallen into the grasps of unconsciousness. The fact that Shawn would go from high to low so quickly and crash worried the detective greatly, but now he actually had a way to offer him the help he needed. He dialed the number from memory.

"Hey O'Hara, you miss me?"

 **:) Help is coming! Or is it? Are they out of the woods yet? Hint: Shawn ain't. Sorry for typos. But 30 reviews? You all rock. Please keep it up, I love reading all of them.**


	7. Raging

**I hereby invoke my artistic license. Enjoy...since I enjoyed writing it. Typos son mios...(are mine)**

 _"Hey O'Hara, you miss me?"_

The sound of her partner's voice made her heart swell. As she saw the number pop up on her screen, she yelled to everyone in the vicinity to get a trace. As she answered, the two techs plugged in her phone and put it on speaker.

"Carlton! Oh my god where are you? Are you okay?" A small crowd began to gather and Juliet saw her superior along with the elder Spencer following at her heels, a look a desperation and hope plastered on both of their faces.

 _"We stumb—upo—a—creek. I thi—it—ects—sespe—ek."_ Her partner's voice jumbled through the phone.

"What? Partner you're breaking up, please repeat, we are tracing your call."

A series of static came through and Juliet was about to lose hope. _"—ear—espe creek!"_

"Did he say the Sespe Creek? That's near 33. They are far away from anything out there." Henry said to no one in particular.

"Carlton, did you say Sespe Creek?" Juliet asked anxiously.

 _"—yes!"_ More static followed and the listeners could swear they heard several curses creep through the line. Suddenly, the line was clearer.

 _"O'Hara you —eed to get a fli— evac out here now. Spencer not lo—ood."_

"Lassiter, stay on the line and we will trace you. Let us come to you." Chief Vick ordered. Juliet caught sight of Henry Spencer standing next to her, running a hand over his mouth out of the stress of the situation.

 _"Shit...batt—dying. And can't st—here."_

"Lassiter, just hold on we will get a trace in a few seconds. Why can't you stay there? Evac is on standby." They heard rustling on the side of the line and Juliet could swear she heard yelling from far away through the phone.

 _"—awn get up!"_

More sounds of rustling followed as if the phone was in the detective's pocket.

 _"What the—ell?"_ Another voice sounded through the line. Even through the phone, everyone could hear the disorientation that flowed through the voice.

"Lassiter what is happening?!" Juliet yelled through the phone. Her knuckles were white as she grasped the edge of the desk.

 _"Go, go!"_ More rustling followed before the line was filled with the overbearing sound of rushing water. _"Jump!"_

"Carlton?!"

The line went silent. Everyone surrounding the phone refused to move. Juliet allowed her eyes to meet those of the tech who was frantically trying to pull anything from the call. A look of sadness crossed his features as he shook his head, casting his eyes back to his computer.

"Damn it!" Juliet yelled. Everyone sighed in exasperation. Henry allowed his head to fall to his chest, placing interlocked fingers behind his neck and slowly stepping away from the excitement.

"What the hell happened on the other side of that call?" The Chief asked out loud.

Juliet felt tears welling in her eyes. "We need to get out there. We didn't get a trace but we know they are near the Sespe Creek. This is the only lead we've gotten so far."

"I'll call our air support." Said one of the officers surrounding the table.

"Sespe Creek is over 60 miles long." Came a gruff voice. Juliet turned to see Henry now leaning against the wall, the phone call weighing on him. They all knew the other voice on the phone was Shawn's, and while knowing he was still alive was a relief, finding out he was in bad shape out in the Southern California heat put a heavy burden on all of them.

"We are going to find them. O'Hara, I want you ready to run point on this rescue. Have ground evac on standby. And someone get me a map!" The Chief yelled back to the bullpen.

A map was delivered and the two women combed over the crinkled paper, finding the thin blue line they were looking for. "See how the creek runs along the highway?" the Chief said as she pointed toward the map. "If they were along the highway, Lassiter would have told us and would be flagging down cars right about now. Based on what he said, he can't be near any highways." Juliet nodded.

"He didn't specifically say they were on Sespe Creek. It sounded like he said 'near' the creek. So, doesn't that mean he could be at _any_ of these other creeks that finger out from the main one?"

"That's hundreds of square miles of land..." added Henry.

"It doesn't matter. Detective, use your skills. They said they were heading west from where they started. Map it out, circle the relevant areas. Tell the chopper where to search."

Juliet blinked away tears and nodded sharply. She felt a fire of determination light beneath her. She was going to find her partner and Shawn even if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

Finally hearing his partner's voice on the other end of the call filled Lassiter with hope. He glanced down at Shawn who, although still unconscious, began stirring out of discomfort. The sun was relentlessly baking both of their bodies on the exposed land. He heard his partner asking where they were and if they are okay, although he didn't really know exact answers to either of those questions.

"We stumbled upon a creek, I think it connects to Sespe Creek." He said into the phone. When a static version of Juliet's voice came through telling him that the was breaking up, he wanted to yell in frustration. He knew they were tracing the call, so as long as he stayed on the line, they could get a hit.

"We are near Sespe Creek!" He yelled. Finally, they appeared to hear him. He yelled another affirmation to their question. _Yes we are near Sespe Creek now get that trace and get us the hell out of here._ He looked down at the cell phone, seeing the depleting battery and the barely-holding signal and couldn't hold in a few choice words. He glanced back down to the injured psychic. His eyes were open in slits and he was breathing shallowly. The pain from his leg and the heat were taking a toll on him, stacked up against every other thing that plagued the downed man. "Shawn stay with me, I'm on the phone with Juliet." Shawn's eyes widened slightly at the mention of her name but besides that, he remained motionless. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with dirt and tracing its way into his hair.

In the sunlight, Lassiter could see just how bruised and battered the man below him was. Bruises like watercolors spread across his cheeks and jaw and forehead. Still-dried blood stuck to the edges of his lips and below his nose. The bandage that remained in place hid a nasty gash that Lassiter was sure also needed stitches. "O'Hara you need to get flight evac out here now. Spencer is not looking good." He said as he attempted to rouse Shawn.

He looked around at the surrounding area, scanning for anything else that might help the team find them. As he scanned the wilderness, his eyes paused as he caught sight of something, hoping that it was his own concussion playing tricks on his mind.

But unfortunately, the big cat was not just a figment of his imagination. As he heard his chief's voice telling him to stay where they were, he almost wanted to laugh. Of all things, they now had a mountain lion stalking them. His phone beeped again to tell him the battery was about to die.

"Shit! Battery's dying. We can't stay here." He said emphatically as he shook the psychic below him. He placed the phone in his pocket while the call remained on the line and gently, but forcefully, patted Shawn's cheeks. "Shawn, get up!" He yelled as he could see the cat creeping out of its hiding place. Its sights sat on the downed man. Lassiter remembered reading in a news report that mountain lions were struggling to find food due to the heat wave. There had already been an attack in the Los Padres, and Lassiter didn't want them to be number two.

"What the hell?" Shawn slurred as he opened his eyes to see a desperate detective urging him to move. His memory was shot and he was too dizzy to care. The sun blinded him and he reached up to shield his eyes, only to be grabbed roughly by the detective and hauled to his feet. He nearly collapsed again as his leg took some of his weight, but the intense pain that flared through the damaged limb shook him out of his disoriented state. Slowly, Lassiter turned Shawn's head so he could see the large beast currently lurking about a hundred feet away from them. "Oh my..." Shawn whispered as he felt his heart drop to his stomach.

Suddenly, the cat sprang from its hunched position and made a beeline for its prey. "Go, go!" Lassiter yelled as he pushed Shawn forward. Shawn couldn't hold back a yell as he was forced to put all of his weight on his leg.

Lassiter could see the cat approaching rapidly to their side. He knew they only had one option, and in a split second decision he grabbed Shawn and practically threw him toward the creek. "Jump!" He yelled as he followed the psychic's path. His feet plunging into icy water only to be swept out from underneath him a second later.

 _Some "creek" my ass._ He thought as he fought against the current. He saw Shawn fighting with one arm as he tried to keep his head above water. The water wasn't particularly deep, but the roughness of the current made it difficult to remain upright. The only good thing that the detective could surmise was that the large cat abandoned its hunt as the two made their plunge. _One danger out of the way._ Thought the detective as he attempted to make contact with the psychic.

He could see his left arm just out of reach. "Shawn! I'm right here!" He yelled as they continued to be swept through the terrain of the river. Lassiter felt his knees and shins bump and scrape against the large rocks that dotted the bottom of the creek. Luckily the ice water and the detective's adrenaline made the injuries barely perceptible.

Shawn could feel the air practically sucked out of his body as he made contact with the water, which was appropriate, because this entire ordeal did suck. His head briefly slipped under the water as the current dragged his body against the rough bottom of the river...or creek, he didn't care. It hurt. He used his left leg to kick himself upright and take in a lungful of air. He blinked water from his eyes and looked around rapidly to see the detective. He used his left arm to fight the pull of the waves although he was unable to change his supine position as the current dragged them along. He could just hear Lassiter's yells over the current of the water.

"Lassie!" He attempted to croak out. He swung his arm back and forth, hoping the detective was within reach. He could feel the aches in his muscles increasing as his energy drained. They just _had_ to stumble across the roughest creek known to man. _And_ get stalked by a mountain lion? It was turning into a bad episode of the Three Stooges.

With one final kick, the detective was able to reach the struggling psychic. "Hang on to me!" He yelled as he attempted to grasp a large boulder in their path. The quick pace of the current coupled with the slippery nature of the rock set the detective up for failure as he tried but failed to keep his grip. The two men were sent swirling down the path of the deranged creek-river once again. Lassiter could see more white water in their path, followed by a drop that he didn't particularly want to experience. Shawn was clinging to him with all the strength he had left as Lassiter attempted to drag both of them to shore.

He could almost feel the dirt of the embankment when they were both thrown into a rock and tossed back into the middle of the creek. Shawn grunted in pain and Lassiter could feel the psychic's grip slipping. Before he knew it, the steep drop was directly in front of them. "Spencer hold on!" Lassiter yelled as he wrapped his arms around the injured man and braced for impact.

There was no brief feeling of weightlessness this time. All the detective could feel was a wall of water pull them down with the help of gravity. He braced himself for impact, doing his best to protect the man in his arms, and hoped the water below them was deep enough.

It wasn't as deep as he hoped. After a brief splash, both of the men's bodies were slammed into the rocks below. Lassiter felt his left side make impact with a large boulder. Shawn was ripped from Lassiter's grip as his back met a similar fate and he slipped beneath the surface once again. Lassiter ignored the glaring pain in his ribs to grab onto Shawn's T-shirt and haul him back against his body. Now that they were through the drop, the creek became quite peaceful.

When Shawn's back hit the bottom of the drop, he instinctively sucked in a breath of air, except for the moment, his air was water. He felt the awful sensation of water going down his throat and into his lungs. He automatically coughed, only to breathe in more water. As his grip on reality started to fade, he felt himself being pulled upward.

Lassiter hauled Shawn's limp body to the edge of the now-calm creek. His shoes were gone, as was his homemade sling. Lassiter could see fresh cuts on his arms and legs staining his pale skin with bright red. Lassiter watched with growing concern as the bandage, still held in place by the "kinky" tape as Shawn put it, was stained a deep red, no longer serving a purpose to his leg after being soaked in the river. However, Lassiter had more pressing matters to attend to.

He finally had the psychic completely free of the water's grasp and he lowered his upper body gently to the dusty ground. He immediately reached for the psychic's neck, feeling with relief a thumping beneath his fingertips. However, Shawn was yet to take a breath. Lassiter placed a shaking hand on the man's chest, his palm against the sopping T-shirt. He shook Shawn gently.

"Don't you dare make me give you mouth to mouth, Spencer!" He said as he shook the psychic beneath him harder. "C'mon you stubborn jerk!" He growled in frustration as he positioned himself next to Shawn's bruised and bloodied head. With one calming breath, the detective pinched the psychic's nose, placed his mouth over his, and forced air into unmoving lungs. He repeated the procedure, and as the stubborn psychic refused to respond, he felt a growing fear that his Shawn's body simply couldn't take any more.

"Damn it, don't give up now!" He yelled as he placed his hands on Shawn's chest again. He was about to begin another round of breathing when he felt the muscles in Shawn's abdomen tighten.

Shawn lurched beneath his pressing hands as his body erupted into hacking coughs, expelling water from his abused lungs onto the dry dirt below. Lassiter turned him to his side to prevent him from choking. Shawn took in a ragged breath once the coughs subsided and Lassiter gently rolled him onto his back again. Shawn swallowed with a wince, his throat feeling like sandpaper as each breath scraped against it. His body felt like it had been put in a blender and put on smoothie mode.

That reminded him... _smoothies._

"Spencer? Shawn? You hear me?" The detective's voice cut through the fog in his brain. The sound of rushing water still filled his ears as his numb body began to return to a normal temperature with the sun's heat. His head was a cacophony of pain. Spinning, aching, and throbbing, the trifecta of a severe head injury, made itself known as Shawn struggled to open his eyes. "Ugh," he breathed out as he closed his eyes against the offending sunlight. He couldn't even keep track of the rest of his injuries, the only thing he was aware of was the warmth coating his upper leg.

Lassiter saw that Shawn was fading in and out. He wasn't completely awake but he wasn't asleep either. He was stuck somewhere in the middle, confusion and pain expressed in his features. Once Lassiter was sure that Shawn was able to keep breathing, he quickly went over to the psychic's bleeding leg. He winced as he bent down to his knees, the pull on his ribs forcing him to take shallow breaths.

The wound was spilling blood through the bandage. Lassiter managed to grasp the knife out of its holster and cut away the useless material. He lost everything else in their plunge. Shawn mumbled to the detective as the tape pulled at his skin, exposing a freely bleeding wound. Lassiter looked around for anything that could stop the bleeding but given the fact that they were both soaking wet, there was simply nothing that could help the injured psychic. Lassiter knew that Shawn's body could not afford to lose any more blood, so in desperation, he pulled off his own belt and wrapped it tightly around his upper thigh. He knew tourniquets were only to be used in dire situations as their use could cause severe damage to the limb, however, this seemed like it qualified as a dire situation. He hoped the sun would dry their clothes. Then at least he could secure some type of fabric over the wound. The fact that it was still bleeding after all this time... _how long had it even been?_

Shawn stirred beneath his grasp. Dirt clung to his hair and wet T-shirt as water continued to drip off of him. The wound on his head was once again exposed and it oozed slightly, mixing with water down his face.

"Lassie?" He said in a weak voice.

"Yeah Spencer I'm here." He said as he positioned himself over the psychic, blocking the sunlight from his face.

"Where'z the cat?"

"Left when we jumped in the creek."

"Ha...scaredy cat." Shawn said with a slight laugh that turned into a grimace.

"Shawn? Can you tell me what hurts?" Lassiter said firmly.

"Um...my head's poundin', my body feels like a fruit smoothie."

"I thought smoothies were good?"

"Not for the fruit."

Lassiter almost laughed. If it weren't for the fact that Shawn's delirium was caused by a concussion and severe blood loss, then he might be in the joking mood. What amazed him though, was the fact that the psychic, half-dead beneath him, still found a way to use humor in their situation.

"Do you feel any new injuries?"

Shawn looked like he was thinking for a moment. _At least that means he's somewhat lucid._ "Just my back...I think I landed on a rock." His voice sounded a bit clearer than before.

"I know the feeling." The detective said with a wince as he wrapped his arm protectively around his side. Shawn caught the movement through half-opened eyes. "Lassie what happened?"

"It's fine." The detective said with a wave of his hand. "Cracked ribs at most."

"Tough Eagle Scout..." Lassiter rolled his eyes.

"Shawn, do you remember what I was doing before we had to go in the creek?"

"No...and this is _so_ not a creek."

"I was able to call the team. I don't know if they were able to trace the call, but they know we are near Sespe Creek."

Shawn's eyes opened wider and he tried to sit up but the detective held him down with the palm of his hand. "Easy."

"You think they can find us now?" Shawn asked, hope and doubt fighting for dominance in the waver of his voice.

"I sure hope so."

* * *

A plan was made, the areas were mapped off, and instructions were given. A chopper was dispatched out of Santa Barbara, traveling to Ojai and beginning the methodical search of the Los Padres. Spotters on each side of the helicopter combed the ground for any sign of the two missing men. Three medics sat anxiously inside. They had no idea what would greet them once they discovered the two men.

 _If_ they discovered them.

It wasn't far from anyone's mind that this could turn into a recovery and not a rescue. The choppers were told about the phone call losing connection under strange circumstances and they already knew that at least one of the men was badly injured. The success rate for operations of this sort were not high enough to build confidence in any of the men and women currently seated in the chopper.

But today, they would not be just a statistic.

* * *

A few hours passed and the duo had remained in their respective positions for nearly the entire time. Shawn had mentioned to Lassiter that he wanted to sit up, so the detective had carefully pulled him farther up to sit against a dried bank of the creek. He looked entirely drained, and Lassiter knew that he wouldn't be able to walk any farther. They both were sweating profusely. Where the clothes had attempted to dry from the soaking water was only replaced with sweat, causing the material to cling to their bodies. Lassiter however, had taken off his button up shirt, leaving only a white undershirt in its place. He put it on the edge of the bank to dry, which it did, thanks to the one-hundred degree weather.

"As you already know, your leg has been bleeding. I'm going to place this shirt over it and secure it with the belt, okay?"

"Okay, Nurse."

"Shut up." Lassiter pressed the fabric into Shawn's thigh while he undid the belt just above it. He made quick work of securing it over the new bandage. Shawn's fists were clasped tightly and his eyes were squeezed shut. He breathed sharply through his nose, dealing with the pain with each breath. "Okay, done."

Shawn's taught muscles relaxed but the lines of pain remained. His right arm lay limply in his lap. He only attempted to move his fingers. What he'd do for a bag of morphine right now...

"Sun's going down." Shawn said with a nod toward the shadow of Lassiter's body.

"We still have several hours. They are probably looking for us right now." Lassiter said in a matter-of-fact tone. But the fact was, he had no idea if anyone was looking for them, or if they were looking in the right place. Shawn had remained stable for the past two hours, however, Lassiter didn't think he would make it through another night out here. His fever was fighting to come back with a vengeance after the abuse his leg experienced. The effects of his concussion came in waves. His body was on the verge of shutting down. The only thing that kept him awake and still somehow annoying the detective was his sheer stubbornness.

He wanted that smoothie.

"-better be buying me the biggest smoothie on the face of the earth once we get back." The psychic's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Why do I have to buy it?"

"So I'll never tell anyone you kissed me."

"Spencer, you idiot. I did not kiss you." He said in a low hiss. "I saved your stupid life."

"I've heard it both ways." The psychic said with a smirk. Shawn winced and his smirk faded from his face as he placed his head into his hand. Lassiter instinctively moved closer to him but Shawn waved him off. "'m fine...just a headache."

"Headaches don't typically look like that."

"When they are caused by blunt-force trauma they do." Although concussed, Shawn was still quick on his feet...for the most part.

Lassiter was about to argue further when a sound in the distance made him still. He placed a finger up to his lips and leaned his head toward the sound.

"Lassie, what are you-"

"Shh!"

After several moments, the sound grew in intensity, and it was unmistakable. Lassiter felt his grin spread across his face as the "* _WOP* *WOP* *WOP*"_ of the chopper blades echoed across the desolate land.

 _Finally._

 **Has rescue arrived? Or are we in for another dose of BAMF Lassiter paired with Shawn whump? I don't know...I suppose the reviews will guide me.**


	8. Found

**I've read the reviews and I've tried to do a little bit of everything that was requested...**

Lassiter stood up from his kneeling position, swaying slightly as a sharp pain in his head made itself known. He winced as each breath sent shockwaves of agony throughout his chest. He forced himself to ignore it, his sleep-deprived body telling him to do otherwise as his unsteady legs shook beneath him.

Two pairs of eyes watched the chopper crest over the horizon. Shawn saw Lassiter stand and attempted to push himself up from the bank. As soon as his support was gone, the world tilted violently and he crashed face down into the dirt. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pounding head and aching body telling him that he was going nowhere fast. Lassiter heard the commotion behind him.

"Spencer, you idiot, stop moving! They will see us soon." Lassiter said firmly. He knew Shawn wasn't thinking completely straight. He just hoped his words would ring true. He looked around at their current position. High banks surrounded them. Rocks carved by years of water stood high above the current creek. Although they could see the helicopter off in the distance, Lassiter knew that the helicopter would only see them if it was right on top of them. As much as he hated to admit it, they needed to get to more open land.

He glanced back at Shawn, who lay with his legs outstretched and curled up on his side, obviously he hadn't moved since his last attempt. Lassiter knelt next to him, still keenly listening to the chopper blades in the distance, as he gently righted the man against the bank again. Shawn blinked slowly at him and his breath came in short pants. The burst of energy he felt at the sound of the chopper obviously fading, as well with his body's ability to continue.

"Shawn?" Lassiter asked as he felt the man's forehead. It was still incredibly hot out and although Lassiter had religiously placed the cool water on the psychic's head over the past several hours, it had done nothing to ward off the patient fever that had been waiting to come back. His suspicions were confirmed when he felt the heat beneath his hand.

Like clockwork, Shawn's apparent health began to plummet, just as it had throughout the past day. Although he was lucid and talking just minutes before, Shawn's injuries began to get the best of him once again. Lassiter remembered Shawn's reaction to the pain in his head a few minutes prior, and he suddenly felt terribly worried that Shawn was taking a turn for the worst. "Not now." Lassiter said as he attempted to rouse the fading psychic. "Spencer! C'mon we need to let them see us."

Shawn shivered slightly beneath the detective's hands. His bleary eyes opened enough to meet those of the man kneeling in front of him. Just minutes before, he was talking about smoothies but now with the unrelenting pain in his head, he was barely able to focus on simply breathing. He knew they were so close to getting rescued but he had already used up the last reserves of his energy.

"S...s'rry." He breathed out, closing his eyes as the last fight in his body abandoned him.

"No! Shawn you don't get to do this! I have dragged your ass through this godforsaken land and it's not going to be for nothing." He reached for Shawn's neck, the fast, thready beat reassuring him that the downed man was still alive. The chopped blades continued to get louder then fade, repeating the pattern and Lassiter recognized the spiral search grid they were performing. They needed to get closer.

He looked over the fading psychic. His body lay limp, besides the slight tremors that crept through his limbs. Lassiter glanced back toward the circling chopper in the distance and made up his mind. He was not leaving the psychic here, especially after their brief encounter with the Southern California wildlife.

He braced Shawn's left arm in his hands, and with one swift movement, hoisted his body over his own in a standard fireman's carry. Lassiter released several pained grunts as the weight pushed against his abused ribs. His vision swam with blackness for several seconds before clearing. Shawn wasn't the only one with a concussion.

He took a few staggering steps forward before his body got used to the extra weight. His breath came in harsh pants as his pain levels reached new heights. He looked at the chopper in the sky, the fading sunlight reflecting off of its black metal. He figured it would take a quarter mile to get out of the covered land. _Only a single lap on a standard track. Easy._

Lassiter put his head down and walked steadily, balancing his precious cargo against his shoulders. _One step at a time._

* * *

The pilot continued to circle the desolate land around one of the creeks that had been mapped off. They had already checked two other circled areas without luck.

The two spotters remained vigilant as their eyes scanned the ground below, looking for any sign of life. The past few hours had been disappointing, but they continued to hold onto the hope that they could only be getting closer.

One of the medics was wringing his hands in his lap. As each minute passed, his nervousness for the state of their patients increased.

The chopper continued it's controlled spiral, widening out with each pass. It remained in this search pattern for the greater part of twenty minutes, when a sudden shout from one of the spotters had the pilot halting its forward progress.

He frantically pointed toward the ground as the other spotter joined him. To the naked eye, the shadow on the ground looked like just that, a shadow. However, with the aid of the binoculars, the spotter could clearly make out a man walking slowly with another man over his shoulders.

"Oh my god."

* * *

Lassiter saw the chopper stop it's spiral movement. Although still far away, Lassiter knew they had spotted them. He allowed himself to sink to his knees, gently lowering Shawn to the ground and disentangling his limbs from his own. Lassiter was gasping for air. No matter how much air he took in, he never felt like his body was getting any oxygen. He looked down at Shawn, whose chest rose and fell in a rapid and shallow rhythm.

"Hang on...they're c...coming." He said as his body finally succumbed to his prior injuries and swirled his vision into a kaleidoscope of pain and exhaustion. He put his hand out to stop himself from face planting into the dirt and allowed himself to sink to the ground next to the injured psychic.

"They're coming."

* * *

Three medics exited the landed chopper, carrying their gear with practiced expertise as they navigated the creek bank to the two fallen men. The man closest to them was unconscious, bruises standing out against his pale complexion along with a myriad of cuts and scrapes among his exposed limbs. They could see a large gash spread across his hairline and immediately took notice of the makeshift bandage around his upper thigh.

The other man began stirring as soon as hands made contact with his skin. Like the other man, he had a serious gash near his scalp and bruises and scrapes dotted his arms.

"Detective Lassiter?" One of the medics asked. "Can you hear me?"

Lassiter's eyes shifted beneath closed eyelids before opening to reveal three new people and a waiting chopper no more than fifty feet away. He felt relief flush over his body. "Y-yes" He struggled to get out as he remembered how difficult it was to breath.

"Detective, do you have any other injuries besides your head that you know of?" The same medic asked as the other two tended to Shawn. Lassiter forced his eyes to the scene next to him, taking in the sight of Shawn's limp body being examined by the other two medics.

"He needs a hospital right now. He's..." Lassiter vision blurred as his headache ratcheted up higher. "Lost so much blood...severe concussion...high fever." He forced out as he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. He felt a slight prick on his inner arm and turned toward the medic.

"Just an I.V. that'll help you feel a lot better in a little bit okay?"

He nodded but turned his head back toward the man beside him. The two medics had cut his shirt, revealing even more bruises in different shades of red and purple. His thigh was exposed for several seconds before being expertly wrapped by trained hands. Shawn groaned as the two pairs of hands carefully transferred him to a waiting backboard.

"He dislocated his shoulder but it's been reset. He hurt...hurt his back in a fall in the creek."

"That's good, Detective. Guys, make sure we take spinal precautions." He announced to his comrades. "Now can you tell me your injuries?"

"Just my head and..." He winced as he took in a deeper breath. "My ribs." He refused to peel his eyes away from the scene next to him even as his own shirt was cut away. He watched as a C-collar neck brace was placed on Shawn, followed by an oxygen mask. He could see that two separate I.V.'s had been stuck into the psychic's arms. In truth, he looked like death warmed over.

The attending medic placed a careful hand against Lassiter's injured side, causing the detective to stiffen and inhale sharply. "Have you been having trouble breathing?" Lassiter nodded because he wasn't entirely sure if he could give a verbal answer. His adrenaline was gone and his body was forced to feel every shard of pain that had been lurking beneath the surface. "I'm going to place this oxygen mask over your face. I need you to keep taking slow and controlled breaths." Lassiter nodded again and the mask was put in place but he kept his eyes glued to the unconscious man beside him. Shawn was being lifted and carried toward the waiting chopper. Within a few moments, one of the medics returned and assisted in carrying Lassiter's backboard as well.

The medic that remained in the chopper as the other went back for the detective was meticulously examining the injured man beneath her. A quick scan from a thermometer told her that his temperature was approaching 104 and after looking at the wound on his leg, she knew why. She could tell he was extremely dehydrated and suffering from heat exhaustion and blood loss, so she pushed two I.V.'s full of saline and glucose to combat the few things she could control. Once they reached the hospital, he'd be given a full round of aggressive antibiotics and a blood transfusion. She just hoped it would be enough.

Once the second patient was loaded and the doors secured, the chopper took off to take the two men to much-needed emergency care. Both spotters made themselves useful by holding the several I.V. bags above their heads.

"We've already radioed the SBPD. They were asking for the patients' status." One of them stated to the medics. All three medics were still busy administering care to the two men. Lassiter craned his neck toward the spotter at the mention of the SPBD. "Let me talk to them." He said as he removed his oxygen mask.

"Whoa Detective, slow down." Said the medic as he replaced the oxygen mask on the stubborn detective's face again. "Just give me a minute to finish up and I'll talk to them." He said patiently. After a few more minutes of checking the detective's blood pressure, heart rate, and pupil reaction, the medic finally reached for the radio.

"SBPD this is Rescue 1, do you copy?"

"Rescue 1, SBPD copies. Do you have a status update?" The calm, yet tense voice on the other end was no other than Lassiter's partner, running point on the entire operation. He felt his heart fill with pride knowing she had been searching for them this entire time.

"Both patients, Detective Lassiter and Shawn Spencer, are being taken with us to Cottage Hospital. ETA 10 minutes."

"What is the status of both of them?" Juliet asked with a slight waver in her voice.

"Detective Lassiter is currently conscious. He sustained a head injury and possible broken ribs." A muffled "I'm fine" came from the detective before the medic ended the message. "Did you get that?"

"That's my partner all right. And Shawn?" She asked, hope hiding behind her suddenly quiet voice.

The medic looked over to his counterpart attending to Shawn. She met his eyes and gave a slight shake of her head to indicate what he already knew. "Shawn is currently in critical condition. We are doing everything we can."

Several moments of silence followed the message before a pained whisper came through. "Copy."

* * *

Juliet could barely hold the tears in her eyes as the condition of Shawn was given to her. The entire station was cheering in success when news come over the radio that the two men had been located. The cheering quickly died down to a tense silence as they all waited for the condition of their two coworkers and friends.

"What does that mean? How critical?!" The booming voice of Henry Spencer echoed through the chief's office. Juliet blinked away the waiting years before approaching the concerned father.

"They didn't specify. Let's get to the hospital and see him, okay?" She said as she gently grasped his hand in her own. She was almost sure that she could see the liquid welling behind his own eyes as she spoke to him.

Henry cleared his throat as he tried to get a handle on his emotions. "Yeah, let's go see my son."

* * *

Lassiter remained awake as long as Shawn was in his vicinity. He had a lingering fear that if he let his guard down now, when they were so close, that Shawn would suddenly slip away. It was completely illogical, but to the detective, it was the only thing he could do without feeling like he gave up.

As soon as they landed, Shawn was quickly taken away to the waiting trauma staff. Lassiter was taken in after and brought to a room where he was transferred from the backboard to the waiting gurney. An ER doctor greeted him and began checking his vitals, at least, that's what Lassiter thought he was doing. In truth, he didn't really care. He began to fade out as soon as his back met the slightly more comfortable material. Within minutes, the sleep-deprived detective was falling asleep, however, his assigned doctor quickly roused him.

"No sleeping yet. Not until I check out your head. What caused this?"

"A bullet." Lassiter said lazily with his eyes still closed. He missed the doctor's look of surprise as he jotted down a note on his chart.

"Have you felt dizziness, headaches, or tiredness?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. But the third one is probably 'cause I haven't slept in..." the detective thought for a moment. "Like three days?"

Once again the doctor looked at the man below him in shock. "Okay, it's not typically advised to sleep for the first 24 hours of a concussion without intermittent wake up periods, however, since this was caused by a bullet graze and not blunt force trauma, I believe it is safe to allow you the much needed rest. I will bandage this and we will get an X-ray of your ribs." The doctor said as he scribbled more notes. "You will be monitored closely."

Lassiter honestly didn't really hear the last of what the doctor said to him. He wasn't even aware as two nurses attached him to a heart monitor and oxygen mask. Finally, knowing that things no longer relied on his ability to continue, allowed himself to sleep.

Just outside of his room and down the hall lay another unmoving man. A team of nurses and doctors worked frantically to keep him stable. His fever was spiking and his blood pressure was dropping as the I.V.'s were failing to revive him. He was in and out of consciousness. He would wake up, eyes shot open and darting around the room before collapsing back into an unconscious heap, entangled in wires and monitors. Ice packs were placed under his arms and groin and a cooling blanket was being prepared to place on his exposed body.

One look at the damaged skin surrounding the wound on his thigh told the lead doctor that invasive debridement and cleaning would be needed. Luckily, it would only take about a half hour to complete, but he still didn't like the fact that he'd have to put his patient under anesthesia. He asked for an O.R. to be prepped and X-ray to be brought in for his chest and head. He looked down at the younger man beneath him, taking in all of the bruises and damage that was inflicted upon him. He couldn't imagine what this man went through. The fact that he had made it this far despite his injuries, dehydration, and heat exposure spoke volumes about his internal will to live. Despite the obstacles in their way, the doctor was confident in his patient's ability to survive this.

"His fever is holding steady, just above 104. Blood pressure has stabilized as well. 100/60." A nurse reported. "He's no longer experiencing tachycardia."

"Keep pushing that saline and glucose; get that blood pressure up higher before we take him in. I want him started on broad-spectrum antibiotics intravenously and monitor for change in temperature every fifteen minutes. Get that cooling blanket on him after X-ray is done." The doctor said back to his team as the two technicians arrived.

The doctor knew that a cavalry of people would be arriving for these two men. Armed security was ordered outside of their doors already and only approved staff was allowed in. According to the initial report, there was still very little that anyone knew about what happened to the men over the past nearly three days. While he waited for X-ray to finish, he made the decision to speak to those that had now taken over the waiting room.

* * *

Henry had phoned his son's best friend the second he had learned that they'd been located. He would have called earlier, but he had so little information to go on he wanted to save the man from undue anxiety. Gus told him that he would get back to Santa Barbara as soon as possible from San Francisco. Henry felt comfort in the fact that someone that cared about Shawn would be there for him in addition to himself. However, he knew that Shawn had managed to weasel his way into the hearts of all those he worked with at the SPBD, especially Detective O'Hara.

He felt wound up like a spring. The unknowingness and lack of control in this entire situation was making the former detective feel helpless. All he knew was that his son had been taken and missing for nearly three days, had been injured, and the last he heard was in critical condition. In his experience, he wouldn't get much more news for a while.

This is why it was a surprise to see a doctor slightly younger than himself emerge from the emergency room doors behind the reception desk. He immediately approached the group made up of Henry Spencer and many members of the SBPD, who were easy to spot clad in uniform and mimicking each other in tense looks mixed with exhaustion.

"I'm going to assume you're all here for Detective Lassiter and Shawn Spencer. Is anyone here family?" The doctor asked the group.

"Shawn is my son." Henry said as he stepped forward. The doctor reached out to shake the weathered-looking man's hand.

"I'm able to let you all know that both of them are currently receiving the care they need. I was informed by Detective Lassiter's doctor that he is currently getting much needed rest after their ordeal. He does have an apparent graze on his head from a bullet as well as a concussion and a few broken ribs. He will certainly be able to go home in a few days and we suspect he will make a full recovery."

Juliet breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted her partner back.

"And Mr. Spencer, do you mind if we speak alone for the time being?"

Henry looked back at the stricken faces of Chief Vick and Detective O'Hara. The Chief placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him a slight nod. He stepped away from the crowd and followed the doctor to a side room.

"Before I go into details," The doctor said as they both sat in facing chairs, "I want to tell you that Shawn is receiving the best care possible and has already made improvements."

"My son is stubborn. Now, please tell me what you know." Henry said gruffly.

"He was critical when he arrived. He was suffering from a high fever, heat exhaustion, severe dehydration, a concussion, several bruises and abrasions, and a dislocated shoulder that had actually been reset. He also has a deep wound in his thigh that is infected and causing the high fever. He has a cut on his head and also bruising on his face and chest that indicates blunt force trauma. I learned from the medics that he has a possible back injury and X-ray is currently taking film of his head and chest area."

Henry nodded as he took in the grim information about his son.

"His vitals are improving so we will be taking him into the O.R. hopefully soon to clean out his leg. Obviously I cannot speak for his other injuries until I see the film, but given that his leg is the most concerning to me, if all goes well with that, I am cautiously optimistic that he will make a full recovery, given the proper rest."

Henry felt himself breath a sigh of relief. Although his son was still far from out of the woods, Henry finally felt like there was a semblance of control over the situation.

"When can I see him?"

"It will have to be once he is out of sur—"

"Please, doctor. I spent the last 48 hours not even knowing if my son was alive. Please, just for a few minutes?"

The doctor pondered the request. He could see the look of desperation behind the red-rimmed, blue eyes of the older gentleman across from him. He knew what the man was feeling, as he also had children that were now adults. A father's love and protective nature never fades.

"Two minutes. I'll have a nurse bring you scrubs while I take a look at the X-rays."

"Thank you."

Juliet and Chief Vick waited patiently as Henry Spencer was led behind closed doors. Juliet's knee bounced as her heel tapped the linoleum floor in a continuous movement. She became aware that her superior was eyeing her.

"I just hate not knowing." She said quietly.

"I'm sure Henry will tell us everything when he gets back."

"It's not just that." Juliet let out a shaky exhale. "We still don't know what happened to them out there. I mean, he said a bullet? What was done to them to put Shawn in critical condition and give my partner a bullet wound?" Juliet asked as the rogue tears returned, except this time she no longer had the willpower to keep them from spilling.

"Detective O'Hara, all that matters at this very moment is that both of them are in there being treated and protected. There will be a time to find out exactly what happened and to track down whoever did this to them. But for now, I need you to stay strong for your partner and Shawn. I know how much you care about both of them." She said firmly but with empathy. The younger woman nodded in understanding.

Both of them caught sight of Henry Spencer emerge through the swinging doors clad in blue hospital scrubs and looking like a concoction of rage and sadness was thrown across his features.

"Henry?" Chief Vick asked as the man stormed over to the pair.

"I want the son of a bitch that did this to my son found and put away for life. That man deserves to die!" He said loud enough that other people in the waiting room turned in their direction.

"Henry, calm down." The Chief attempted to say as she met the eyes of the man in front of her. She could see the anger radiating from the blue orbs but the lines on his face spoke of overwhelming shock and horror. "Henry...what did you see?"

Henry rubbed his tired eyes with a shaking hand and attempted to take a steadying breath. "Shawn was...someone tortured him." Juliet gasped at his words. "His vitals are improving, but he...God he looked terrible." Henry said.

Chief Vick felt her heart clench at the sound of pain reverberating through Henry's voice. She took his arm and led him over to the empty chairs. In painstaking detail, the former detective went over the sight that greeted him as he walked into his son's room.

Juliet and the Chief were shocked to hear the details of Shawn's condition. In fact, neither of them could imagine Shawn being put in such a situation to inflict so much pain and damage upon him. All three pairs of eyes were damp by the time Henry finished his report.

"He said he will be out of surgery within the hour and placed in recovery. We can see him then as long as everything goes well."

"Henry, if there is anything else we can do for you or Shawn, don't hesitate to ask." The Chief said gently.

"Just keep him protected."

The Chief nodded as a different doctor approached them. All three stood as he introduced himself as Lassiter's doctor.

"He's currently sleeping. He said he hasn't slept in three days. I can't imagine he will wake up anytime soon, but you are welcome to sit with him."

Both Juliet and Chief Vick followed the doctor as Henry returned to his seat to wait for his son to be moved to recovery. He looked around at the several officers who also say stubbornly waiting for an update on Shawn's condition. He was sure they would all like to see Lassiter as well. Although Shawn never became an actual detective, Henry felt pride in knowing that he was considered part of the SBPD family.

* * *

The experienced doctor looked down at his patient, now resting as the effects of the anesthesia began to wear off. His vitals were still holding strong despite his fever that refused to go down. He knew the poor man was most likely in for a long and uncomfortable night as he watched his limbs continue to shiver.

He made a vow to watch him closely.

He returned to the waiting room to give news to Shawn's waiting father, as well as the other uniformed officers. He brought Henry back to his son's room and told him to stay for however long he would like.

As he saw the man take a seat in the plastic chair next to his son's bed, he had a feeling that the elder Spencer was in for a long and uncomfortable night as well. He left the two in the dim room and went to give the other two members of the concerned trio who currently sat in the detective's room the news.

Now that Henry was alone entirely with his son, he grasped his hand in his own, which appeared to be the only part of Shawn that wasn't bruised and battered. He felt the slight tremors through his fingers.

"Don't worry, kid. You're safe now."

 **More comfort is coming...this chapter would've been like 10k words if I wrote all that was in my mind. I figured you'd rather have the faster update ?**


	9. Reality

**I hate seeing stories coming to an end...thanks for being here.**

Juliet stayed by Lassiter's side throughout the night. Despite wanting to investigate their kidnapping, the Chief ordered her to take the next 24 hours to recuperate and rest, especially since there was less than nothing to go on since they could not take neither Lassiter's nor Shawn's statement for the time being.

Her partner slept peacefully. The bandages around both wrists told a story that Juliet wasn't entirely ready to hear. The graze on his head was bandaged and the lines of pain in his features were smoothed, however, which gave her some sense of comfort. She couldn't even imagine what he had gone through or how his body could even endure the abuse it took. However, she knew that her partner was never one to back down from a challenge. He would go until his body collapsed on him, which, based on the EMT's report, is exactly what he did.

She was relieved to learn that the X-rays only revealed two fractured ribs. The bruising on his side was vibrant and she knew it had to be painful just to breathe. Luckily, after monitoring the detective for any signs of a concussion, the doctor was satisfied enough to give the detective much needed painkillers, which were now swirling through the I.V. concoction of saline and glucose. Even without them, she was sure that his exhaustion would've forced him to sleep anyway.

The same couldn't be said for the detective's kidnapping companion. A floor above them in the ICU, Henry Spencer watched his son's body fight against the fever currently raging through him. Despite cleaning the wound in his thigh, Shawn's weakened state was still struggling to fight off the infection that was present.

Henry refused to let go of his son's trembling hand. He needed Shawn to know that he wasn't alone. He watched as Shawn would experience nightmare after nightmare, waking up hallucinating that he was still trapped wherever the hell he was before they escaped. He felt as if his heart was ripped right out of his chest every time Shawn's unseeing, bleary eyes met his. The fear and confusion radiating behind them was something he had never seen before and it killed him to know that Shawn was expriencing this torment.

The doctor didn't feel like giving his patient painkillers was a safe route. Between the dehydration, high fever, and serious concussion, he settled on giving the injured man a light sedative anytime he was showing restlessness and discomfort. Time after time, Henry watched as Shawn's taut muscles and pained features would slowly relax against the sweat-soaked sheets. The shivers remained, but at least Shawn was ripped free from another hallucination for the time being.

Bruises and scrapes dotted every part of his exposed skin. His shoulder was swollen and turning a mix of purple and blue that crept passed his collarbone. The X-rays showed no further damage other than the dislocation, which, thanks to what Henry assumed was Lassiter, had successfully been put back into place. The X-rays also thankfully showed no damage to his son's spine. He had significant bruising along his back, but that was the worst of the damage. However, the X-rays did reveal a cracked rib as well as a small hairline fracture to Shawn's skull. Despite how awful the state of his son seemed to be, Henry knew it could have been so much worse.

He was lucky to even be alive.

He held his son's hand tighter as the trembles refused to cease. He knew Shawn was fighting hard. He wanted nothing more than for his son to get the rest he deserved. But until the fever broke, his body was going to continue its strain. As the clock slowly crept past 4am, Henry finally fell asleep with his head on his son's bed and his hand wrapped around the prone man's.

Hours later, as the sunlight crested over the horizon and spilled into the white-walled hospital room, Juliet found herself awakening from a sleep she didn't remember falling into. She blinked several times to clear her vision as she straightened her now aching back. She looked across at her partner, only to find two tired blue eyes staring back at her own.

"Carlton?"

"O'Hara."

Without thinking, she sprung from her chair and wrapped her arms around Lassiter's upper body, eliciting a slight groan from him.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just...I'm so glad you're okay." She said as she released him.

"Thanks for finding us." He said as he allowed her to take his hand in both of hers, momentarily ignoring the bandaging on his wrist. He felt much better than he did the prior day. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Over twelve hours. You were pretty much asleep right when you both arrived."

 _Both._

Lassiter's eye's widened. "Is Shawn here? He wasn't doing good when we got here. I tried...well I tried to stay awake in case he needed me."

Juliet could hear the worry and fear within his voice, which stood in stark contrast to the usual annoyance and irritation that usually spewed from the detective with any mention of the psychic.

"Shawn is still in the ICU, just above us. Henry has been with him all night so I was only able to see him briefly." Juliet explained.

"How was he?" Lassiter asked in a low tone.

"Not great. Still fighting an infection. Last I heard from Henry, his fever still hadn't broken."

"Damn it."

"He's strong, Carlton."

Lassiter allowed his eyes to meet hers. "Trust me, I know." He said with a sigh. His mind flashed back to the treatment Shawn experienced at the hands of their captors. His bound hands behind his back forcing his dislocated shoulder into an even more unnatural position and Shawn's screaming for them to stop as the hits rained down on his defenseless body. He would never forget the look on Shawn's face as the large knife was plunged into his unsuspecting flesh or how the light in his eyes faded out with each drop of blood that left his body. Pulling his limp body to the floor and desperately trying to stop the bleeding would stick with him forever. But what would haunt his dreams was the look on Shawn's face as he was dragged out of the room to his apparent death. The feeling in Lassiter's gut as he realized he failed was something he never wanted to experience again.

What he certainly would never forget was the side of Shawn he'd never seen before. His desperation to protect those he cared about, even if it meant losing his life. His will to fight to survive despite the odds. Lassiter never gave Shawn half the credit he deserved but after this ordeal, he realized there was so much more to the psychic than he ever knew.

If he lost him after everything they went through, he wasn't sure he'd ever recover.

"Carlton?" Juliet asked quietly, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Just so you know we have armed security at both yours and Shawn's doors."

"That's not necessary...anymore."

Juliet was quiet for a moment. "What happened out there? One second you were involved in a chase and the next I'm arriving at your totaled and empty car."

"If you're ready to take my statement, I'm ready to give it." Lassiter replied. Juliet dug through her bag to get the proper materials as Lassiter's doctor entered the room.

"How are you feeling, Detective?" He asked as he checked his vitals.

"Much better than yesterday."

"I'm sure of it. All of your vitals look great. I'm going to have some food sent up here because I imagine you're hungry. I'd like to keep you one more day, but since you're improving, I anticipate you'll be able to go home tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, doctor." Lassiter said as he felt his stomach growl at the mention of food.

The doctor left and Juliet was left alone with her partner once again. "Okay, whenever you're ready, just start from the beginning."

While Lassiter gave his statement, on the floor above them, Henry found himself talking to his still son. He'd been given another sedative over an hour before, and it appeared that he was finally getting a sliver of the much needed rest that had alluded him throughout the night. The shivers had died down to an occasional tremble rolling through his exposed limbs. Nurses had checked on him, even while Henry remained asleep for the short time before sunrise, noting the change in his temperature. According to the latest report, it was down to 103 which, although still high, was nothing compared to the 105 temperatures his son was experiencing throughout the night.

He mostly said repeated reassurances to his unresponsive child. He wanted nothing more the to gather Shawn in his arms and tell him it would be okay, however, throughout the past night, Henry found himself doubting it would be. He still knew very little about what his son experienced but he did know that it wasn't good. He just hoped to God that his son would recover mentally from this ordeal.

He grimaced when he watched the nurse change the bandages on Shawn's thigh. The red and puffy skin surrounding the newly-placed stitches demonstrated that Shawn's fight wasn't over yet. Once she was done with her ministrations and adjustments to Shawn's I.V.s and bandages, she left the father and son alone again. It was still early in the morning and Henry felt incredibly lonely without anyone to really talk to. He had spoken to Madeline the night prior and promised he would call with any future updates regarding their son. The good news was that Shawn was scheduled to be placed in a regular room later that day which meant he could have more visitors. Gus was practically losing his mind having to wait but used his time to get so far ahead on work that he could spend the next week at his best friend's side. Henry smiled as he thought about the phone call in which Gus told him his plan. He looked down at his son once again, resuming his vigil diligently for the time being.

Juliet had tears streaming down her cheeks by the time her partner had recounted what had happened to them after the car chase. Although her vision was somewhat blurry, she swore she could see moisture and redness lurking amongst the bright blue orbs of her partner.

Lassiter attempted to turn off his emotions and give his statement in a professional and efficient manner. He felt himself slipping as he explained the events leading up to his escape and finding Shawn in the trunk. By the end of the story, he felt completely exhausted. Neither he nor his partner spoke for several moments but Juliet was the one to break the silence.

"I know what happened is painful to remember but please don't forget that you saved Shawn's life." She said as she wiped away the tears. "You're both okay because of what you did."

"I'm still not sure that Shawn is ever going to be okay." Lassiter said sadly.

"Whatever happens, he has a lot of people that will be there for him. You're not alone anymore." Juliet replied as she squeezed her partner's hand.

* * *

A day and a half later, Lassiter had been released from the hospital while Shawn remained. After being moved to a regular room, the psychic experienced a flurry of visitors. Henry remained for nearly the entire time as well as his best friend. The two became permanent fixtures in room 312.

Shawn had made drastic improvements over the last 24 hours. His body temperature was no longer raging with fever and the bruises throughout his body had begun to fade. He'd been awake for a few brief moments but struggled to maintain his grasp on reality as the confusion and headaches caused him to spiral back into the world of unconsciousness. His doctor told the worried duo that it was for the best. The more rest he could get now, the more he could heal.

The daylight faded to dusk and both men felt their own grasp on reality fading. Henry had barely slept over the past three days and Gus felt drained due to the constant anxiety he experienced after learning about his best friend's predicament over two days ago. That's why, when Shawn's eyes blinked open and remained open for the first time, Henry and Gus wanted to celebrate.

"Shawn, you with us? You're safe and in the hospital." Henry said in his most soothing voice possible as Gus pressed the call button. Henry picked up the cup of water and offered it to his son, who gladly sipped at the refreshing beverage held in front of him. He leaned back against the the pillows and Gus and Henry watched as he moved his fingers against the white sheet.

"I feel funny." Shawn said hoarsely as his eyes focused on his fingers which now fiddled with the sling against his chest.

"You're finally on painkillers, kid."

"Oh." Shawn said as a dose of reality seemed to register within him. "S'pose that's a good thing." Shawn said lazily.

"You were in rough shape when you were brought here. You're doing much better though." Henry replied.

"Had us worried sick though!" Gus said a little too loudly. He softened as he looked over his friend's damaged face. "Glad you're okay, buddy."

Shawn remained silent as the two watched his mind process things. Henry knew his son hadn't forgotten anything, except for the parts he may not have been conscious for, and he felt his anxiety rise at the thought of what those memories could do to him. Shawn's doctor came in and calmly explained to the bedridden psychic exactly what the damage was. Henry had already explained to the doctor that his son had incredible attention to detail, so leaving things out would only make him ask more questions. Shawn slowly nodded as the details of his various injuries were explained to him. Most of them he already knew about, however, a hairline fracture in his skull was not something he was expecting. _Explains the headache._

After the doctor had left, Shawn processed what was told to him. With each injury came a flash of memory of how it came to be. Shawn was lost in his thoughts when he felt pressure on his left arm. Only then did he become aware of the fast beeping coming from a machine behind him.

"You're okay now." Henry soothed. He knew that Shawn's photographic memory could be the biggest blessing but also the bane of his existence. Shawn's hazel eyes looked up to meet his. What Henry saw wasn't a broken man. Instead, he saw raw emotion mixed with a determination to persevere. Although it broke his heart to know that Shawn would be fighting demons for a while, it was a relief to know that he was facing them head on. There was no denying what happened. There was also no doubt that Shawn would be able to overcome it.

"Where's Lassie?" Shawn's quiet voice asked.

"He's actually here, waiting for you to wake up. I'll go get him." Gus said as he stood up, leaving the two behind.

Shawn refused to let gravity force his eyelids to close. He felt so out of it and he simply wanted things to return back to normal. He suddenly felt uncomfortable about the entire predicament. "Did Lassie give his statement?"

"Yes he did."

"Did you read it?"

"No. If and when you want to tell me what happened, you decide when the time is right. Okay?" Henry said gently.

"Okay." Shawn said as a hint of a smile ghosted across his lips. Yes, his dad was a hardass but he understood Shawn more than anyone else in the world. He'd also go to the ends of the earth just to make sure he's okay. For that, Shawn was thankful.

A few moments later, Lassiter knocked on the door quietly before entering. Henry gave Shawn a reassuring pat on the hand before excusing himself for some coffee. Lassiter slowly made his way over to the empty chair, aching muscles still telling him to take it easy.

"Spencer." He said with a nod.

"Lassie." Shawn replied back.

They studied each other for a moment, allowing to fact that they had come full circle of this experience to wash over them.

Neither of them needed to speak for the time being. Words had no effect on how both men felt. Their lives had been altered and there was nothing anyone could say to change that. But, as blue eyes met hazel, all that needed to be said already was.

They made it.

However, because Shawn always had to get the last word in, he didn't let the moment go to waste.

"Remember what you said out there?"

Lassiter looked at him quizzically. "What did I say?"

The edges of Shawn's lips quirked into a slight smile. "You owe me a smoothie, Detective."

Maybe the stubborn psychic was going to be alright after all.

 **I hope you enjoyed. As always, my stories grow into more than I could ever imagine. I value your reviews, so whether you've been here since the start or are passing through at a future date, drop a line or two. See you again sometime...**


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